writingsbytee

[writingsbytee]

🍑 GEORGIA PEACH 🍑

Stack and Susannah Mae Whitfield aka Peaches.

Summary: Folks called her Peaches before she ever stepped on stage, and the name stuck the way honey clings to warm skin—sweet, natural, and just a little messy. Nobody sent for her. She showed up on her own terms. With not much more than a worn traveling dress, a fan tucked in her cleavage, and a laugh that could make sinners lean in, Peaches arrived at The Blackline looking for a fresh start and a full purse. But she didn’t come in desperate. She came in ready.

Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT

Savannah, Georgia–born in the backroom of her auntie’s boarding house on a sweltering June morning…

Two part series

The Blackline–Late Afternoon, Golden Hour

The front doors creaked open just as the sun hit the curtains and painted everything inside in bronze. Heat clung to the velvet walls, thick and perfumed, wrapping around the new girl the second she stepped inside.

Peaches.

Sandy brown curls pinned up, a fan tucked into her cleavage, curves wrapped in a dusty rose traveling dress that had seen better days. Her lipstick was fresh, but her shoes were worn. She looked like temptation come knockin’—with a past and a punchline in every sway of her hips.

“This the place?” she asked, letting the double doors shut behind her with a slap, “Smell like sin and good money in here.”

A man near the bar chuckled under his breath. One of the housemen tried to straighten his tie. Peaches didn’t notice. She was too busy looking up—admiring the gold ceiling, the stairwell that curved like a question mark, and the big shadow leaning against the upstairs rail.

Stack.

He clocked her instantly.

Didn’t say a word. Just lit his cigarette, watching the new girl from above. His eyes dragged down her body like they’d been waiting for her.

Elias “Stack” Moore was clean and crisp in a dark vest and open collar, suspenders hanging easy at his sides, a gold tooth flashing when he smiled—though right now, he wasn’t smiling. He was watching.

Peaches stood near the front parlor, fan in one hand, lips glossed and pouting just enough to tempt sin. When their eyes met, it was like two seasoned gamblers at a table—each clocking the other’s bluff, charm, and heat in a single sweep.

Stack spoke first, smooth as aged whiskey.

“You the new flavor I heard comin’ through?”

Peaches grinned, wide and brazen.

“Depends who’s tastin’.”

That made him smile. Just a flick of it—but enough to make the room feel hotter. He made his way down the stairs, slow and wicked. Peaches hummed to herself when he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging down her body like he was counting blessings.

“How can I help you, baby?”

His voice dropped a register—low, velvety. That sound that curled around your spine and made even silence feel intimate.

Peaches shifted her weight, letting her hips settle just so.

“Well, I’m Peaches. Fresh from Savannah. I sing, I swing, and I ain’t scared of much.”

“Peaches,” he repeated, tasting the word, “That suit you.”

He reached for her hand—not rushed, not timid—just confident. Raised it to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to her knuckles, all while holding her gaze.

“Elias Moore. Folks call me Stack. I run this place.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t let go. His lips stayed a beat longer than they should’ve, and Peaches felt it all the way down to her thighs.

“Well, Stack,” she said, her voice syrupy, “Looks like I came to the right door.”

He finally let her hand go, turning slightly to call over his shoulder.

“Minnie! Show our guest to the green room.”

A young woman appeared from the side hallway, moving with the kind of calm that settled a room without trying. She wore a dark wrap dress dusted lightly with flour, a kitchen cloth tucked in her hand, and her wide brown eyes held a hush of quiet knowing—not nervous, just tuned in. The kind of woman who could read your whole mood in a glance and never call you on it—just smile soft and say, “Mmmhmm.”

“Yes sir.”

Peaches gave Stack one last up-and-down sweep—not shy, not subtle—and turned to follow Minnie.

They passed through a narrow hall, the scent of rosewater and dusted velvet trailing behind them. As they neared the back stairwell, a richer smell crept in—butter, cinnamon, maybe brown sugar—the kind of scent that made a girl slow down and breathe.

Peaches cocked her head, lips parted.

“Mmm. Somebody back there tryin’ to seduce me through my nostrils.”

The woman leading her smiled gently, her steps unhurried. She wore a simple black wrap dress with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and her voice, when it came, was soft like honey on warm toast.

“That’d be me. I just pulled a peach cobbler from the oven. Figured the house could use a little sweetness tonight.”

Peaches turned to take her in—plush frame, wide eyes that knew too much, and a half-smile that made you feel like you’d already said too much. She didn’t walk fast, didn’t fidget. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much space to take up—and how to listen when the room spoke.

“You bake and do tours?” Peaches teased, grinning, “What, you gon’ sing me to sleep next?”

Minnie didn’t laugh. Just gave her a look from the side—eyebrows raised, lips pursed—like she’d seen every kind of woman come through these halls and already had Peaches pegged as the kind who talked big but had gold under all that peach.

“I do a little bit of everything,” Minnie said, “Keep the girls fed. Keep the energy right. Keep an eye on things.”

She opened the door to the green room, then looked back with a knowing glint.

“This where we put the new girls first night or two,” she said gently, “Ain’t your permanent room—just a place to breathe, wash up, get your bearings. We’ll place you proper once they see what your light look like.”

Peaches walked in slow, taking in the velvet chaise, basin stand, and the faint scent of lavender tucked into the linens.

“I done slept in worse,” she muttered, half to herself, “Ain’t no complaints.”

Minnie lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed loosely.

“Stack’s the one who sends the clothes up. He always does that for the new girls.”

Peaches looked over her shoulder, lips curled.

“He always kiss hands too?”

Minnie’s smile curved sly.

“That depends. But lingerin’ on the balcony the way he did?” She paused, eyes twinkling with quiet knowing, “That only happens when he’s interested. Real interested.”

Peaches raised an eyebrow, mouth parting like she had a flirt on deck—then thought better of it. Instead, she turned back to the room, tracing her fingers over the dresser’s edge.

“Good to know.”

Peaches walked barefoot now, freshly bathed, robe tied at the waist, curls loose and frizzing with the heat. Her skin was still dewy from the tub. The green room smelled of rosewater and lavender, with a full-length mirror in the corner and a trunk at the foot of the bed.

She sighed, rolling her neck.

“Well damn. If this the temp room, I hope the permanent one come with a butler and a man who know how to eat pussy sideways.”

“You talk big for somebody just got out the bath.”

Peaches turned—startled but not scared—to see a woman leaning against the wall near the vanity, holding a folded bundle of clothes in her arms.

Cordelia.

Tall. Dark-skinned. Eyes lined sharp like a siren, gold hoops catching the low lamplight. She was dressed in black and moved like smoke and secrets.

“Name’s Cordelia,” she said, walking in, “Stack asked me to bring you somethin’ to wear tonight. Said you ain’t got much yet.”

Peaches smiled wide, hand on her chest.

“Well now, tell Mr. Big and Bossy I appreciate him thinkin’ of my modesty.”

Cordelia tossed the bundle onto the bed, “Ain’t nobody in this house modest, sugar.”

“Oh, I’m gettin’ that real quick.”

Cordelia smirked, stepping closer, “You a talker.”

“I’m a singer. And a lover. And a fighter, if the mood strikes.”

Peaches plopped on the bed, crossing her legs and patting the spot beside her.

“C’mon. Sit with me, pretty. Tell me what the hell I done walked into.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched—she liked this one already. She sat.

“This here’s The Blackline. We do what we want, when we want, and we get paid good to do it. The pay depends on what you give. Some girls sing. Some fuck. Some do both. Some pour drinks with extra wrist. You pick your hustle.”

“I can do a lil’ of all that,” Peaches said, grinning, “Long as the coin good and the sheets clean.”

Cordelia laughed, tossing her curls.

“You gon’ do just fine.”

Peaches leaned in, dropping her voice.

“What about the twins?”

“Stack and Smoke?”

“Mmhmm. Who runnin’ this pleasure palace?”

Cordelia’s smirk turned knowing.

“Stack does the talkin’. Smoke does the watchin’. Stack’ll flirt with you, sleep with you, and still forget your name in the morning. Smoke won’t say two words, but if he looks at you too long? You’ll think about it for the rest of your life.”

Peaches cackled, “You makin’ ‘em sound like a good time and a bad idea rolled into one.”

“That’s exactly what they are.”

Cordelia rose first, smoothing her skirt.

“I’ll let you get decent. You got an hour before he wants to see what you can do.”

“Who? Stack?”

Cordelia turned, pausing in the doorway.

“Who else? Smoke don’t bother with auditions—he’s busy handlin’ the kind of work that don’t get sung about.”

She paused, eyes flicking over Peaches with a smirk.

“Stack though? He always wants the first taste.”

The green room hummed with stillness, the late-day light casting a warm, slanted glow across the walls. Outside, footsteps creaked faintly along the upstairs hall. Laughter echoed from the bar below. Somewhere, a piano tuned itself in slow chords.

Peaches stood in front of the vanity, robe slipping from her shoulders, naked but not bare. She was wrapped in heat, in promise, in something that felt like electricity thrumming low in her belly. The bundle of clothes Stack had sent sat folded on the bed—peach satin, gold trim, a whisper of a dress. Next to it, a note written in a man’s hand, short and crooked:

Sing like you mean it. —S.

She snorted.

“Cocky bastard.”

But her lips curved up anyway.

She took her time getting ready.

Powdered her chest. Oiled her thighs.

Dabbed perfume behind her ears, under her breasts, the inside of her knees.

She wore it like intention—like scented warning.

The dress slid over her hips like water, clinging to her curves, dipping low in the back and lower in the front. No bra. Just skin and softness and the gentle weight of her breasts moving with her every breath. She pulled her hair up in loose, intentional curls, pinning each piece with care.

Her reflection stared back, full lips glossy, eyes lined with a little more black than usual. Not for disguise. For declaration.

“You gon’ give them somethin’ to remember, baby,” she told herself.

Just as she slipped on her heels, there was a knock at the door.

Three soft taps.

She walked over and opened it to find Minnie holding a small silver tray with a crystal glass and a spoon.

“Figured you could use a little somethin’ before you sing,” Minnie said, voice warm.

“What’s this?”

“Peach whiskey with a drop of honey. Eases the nerves.”

Peaches took the glass, sipped slow, and sighed as it slid down her throat.

“You might be dangerous, you know that?”

Minnie just smiled, stepping back.

“Stage’ll be ready in ten. Cordelia’s lightin’ the candles now.”

“And Stack?”

“Already waitin’.”

Peaches closed the door behind her and turned back to the mirror. Her heart beat harder now—not with fear, but with readiness. She looked like a storm in peach satin. And he was going to feel every inch of her voice when it hit that room.

She grabbed her fan, touched her lipstick one last time, and whispered to her reflection:

“Let’s go make a memory.”

The music room in The Blackline was draped in shadow and silk, with low-hung lamps casting golden halos across polished wood. A hush had settled in. Patrons leaned forward in velvet chairs. Cigarette smoke danced beneath the chandeliers.

The upright piano murmured. A slow, sweet tune crept out—something bluesy, almost shy. The band was light tonight, just piano and bass. The kind of sound that gave a singer room to breathe. To seduce.

The side curtain rustled, and a silhouette appeared.

Peaches.

She stepped out into the light, hips wrapped in peach satin, skin gleaming with powder and oil. The dress clung to every curve, the hem brushing her ankles, the neckline low enough to cause distractions in the front row. Her hair was pinned just high enough to show the slope of her neck, and her eyes scanned the crowd like she was searching for her next sin.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t smile.

She let the silence grow pregnant with curiosity before sauntering to the mic and lifting the fan in her hand—gold silk with tiny peach blossoms stitched into the folds.

And then, she sang.

🎶I want a little sugar…in my bowl…🎶

🎶I want a little sweetness…down in my soul…🎶

Her voice was molasses and fire, sliding over the notes like a silk slip sliding down thighs. Men shifted in their seats. Women leaned in. Even the servers froze in the doorway.

In the far back corner, half-shrouded in smoke and low light, Stack sat with a half-empty glass and one leg draped over the other.

He was still.

Watching.

One elbow on the armrest, his gold tooth catching a flicker of candlelight every time his mouth twitched. But he didn’t smirk. Not now. Now, he was hungry. His gaze trailed up the length of her thighs to the way her mouth shaped each lyric.

🎶I want a little steam…on my clothes…🎶

🎶Maybe I can fix things up, so they’ll go…🎶

She dipped into the next note like it hurt. Like she was laying something on the altar.

And she was.

Because Peaches wasn’t just singing.

She was laying claim.

Every roll of her hips, every glide of her fingers across her chest—intentional. Every line pointed toward one man who hadn’t moved once, but who had been eating her alive with his eyes since the first note.

She could feel him.

It was like his stare had weight—like it sat between her thighs and tugged on every moan in her throat.

She walked away from the mic, slow, singing over her shoulder as she moved between tables.

🎶You been acting different, baby…sleepin’ cold at night…🎶

🎶I think I need a taste of somethin’ that feels right🎶

Someone whistled.

Someone groaned.

But she only had eyes for one man.

And when she reached the edge of the stage again, she turned her back to the crowd, rolled her hips once—deep and low—and looked directly at Stack Moore.

🎶I need a little sugar in my bowl…🎶

🎶And baby…I need you.🎶

The last note rang out like a secret.

Then the room erupted—applause, hoots, laughter. But Peaches didn’t wait for a bow. She gave a single wink, fanned herself once, and strode off stage with her hips still talking.

Behind her, Stack sat motionless for a beat.

Then he stood.

Drink abandoned.

Suit sharp.

Intent clear.

The applause still rang in the halls long after she left the stage.

Peaches walked slow, fan still half-open in her hand, the satin of her dress whispering at her thighs. The green room was dim now, lit by a single lamp and the golden glow of the hallway spilling in through the cracked door.

She set the fan on the vanity and leaned in close to the mirror. Her lipstick hadn’t moved. Neither had the fire in her eyes.

“Still got it,” she whispered to her reflection.

That’s when she heard it—two knuckles to the door, low and deliberate.

She didn’t turn. Just smiled.

“Come in, sugar. Door’s already open.”

The hinges creaked, slow and smooth.

Stack Moore stepped inside like he’d always belonged there. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

His vest was undone now, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t loosened a bit. If anything, he looked more dangerous in the quiet—like a storm that hadn’t decided whether to kiss or kill.

“Well?” she asked without facing him, “Did I pass your little test?”

Stack said nothing for a moment.

Then his voice came, velvet-dark.

“You didn’t just pass, baby. You fucked up the curve.”

Peaches turned, slowly. Leaned back on the vanity, one hand resting on her hip.

“That right?”

Stack’s eyes dragged over her—not greedy, not rushed. Reverent. Like he was still hearing her voice echo in his skull.

“Didn’t expect that sound to come outta you,” he said, stepping closer, “Thought you’d be good. But you ain’t good.”

He stopped just a breath away.

“You dangerous.”

Peaches licked her lips slowly.

“And what that make you?”

Stack’s smile came slow, eyes glinting.

“A man who wants a second listen.”

He reached for her hand again—like he had when they first met—but this time, he didn’t kiss it. He just held it for a moment, calloused thumb brushing along her knuckles.

“That last note…” he said quietly, “Felt like it hit me in the ribs.”

“I was aiming a little lower,” she teased, voice soft.

He huffed a breath—almost a laugh—but didn’t let go.

The silence between them swelled, thick with everything unspoken. The tension wasn’t sharp—it was molten, slow-burning, coiled.

“You always sing like that?” he asked, eyes locked to hers.

“Only when someone worth singin’ for in the room.”

She said it like a challenge. And he took it like one.

He leaned in, lips near her ear.

“Don’t make a habit of impressin’ me, Peach. I might start askin’ for encores.”

She tilted her head, barely brushing his mouth with her cheek.

“Might not be a bad thing…long as you remember who’s got the mic.”

He pulled back, studying her like a painting—something too detailed to take in all at once.

Then he let go of her hand.

“You rest up. You got folks buzzin’ downstairs already.”

He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway.

“I’ll be watchin’.”

And he was gone.

Peaches stood there a beat longer, heat still prickling beneath her skin.

Then she whispered to herself, smirking into the mirror:

“Oh, he already is.”

Phase one.

Stack leaned back in the leather, one elbow on the armrest, a cigar smoldering in his other hand. His dark eyes tracked Peaches from head to toe—the soft, plush robe barely covering her thick, honey-toned thighs, the way her hips swayed when she stepped into the warm glow of the room.

“Go on,” he said, voice smooth and slow, “Let’s see what you got, Peach.”

Peaches smiled—slow and lazy—her lips painted red to match the curve of her nails. She stood a few feet in front of him, swaying with the music like her body carried its own rhythm. Her eyes locked on his as she slipped one hand to the sash at her waist and pulled, letting the robe fall open.

Stack’s grin widened.

Underneath? A sheer slip that left nothing to the imagination — her nipples pressed dark and tight against the fabric, the curve of her belly soft and inviting, the weight of her ass and thighs moving with every shift.

Stack exhaled, smoke curling from his lips.

“Mm. You pretty,” he whispered, “You know that, don’t you?”

Peaches tilted her head, “I know what I look like.”

She turned slow, presenting her ass, letting her robe slip completely from her shoulders. Then she bent at the waist, hands sliding down her legs as she moved her hips to the beat. Stack leaned forward slightly, watching the deep arch of her back, the way her thighs trembled like they were daring him to grab them.

“Keep goin’,” he said, voice darker now.

She did. But she didn’t rush. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her warmth heavy against his thighs. The slip rode up, exposing the tops of her thighs. Her lips brushed his ear when she whispered.

“Want me to dance for you, daddy?”

Stack chuckled, hands automatically moving to her waist.

“Mmhmm. Show me you know how to move.”

She rolled her hips over him slow, grinding on his lap with deliberate pressure, her breath warm on his neck. Stack groaned low in his throat—she had weight, she had power, and she wasn’t shy about using it.

“Damn,” he muttered, “You know how to work that big ass, don’t you?”

She leaned back, grabbed the straps of her slip, and peeled it down, letting her breasts fall free. Soft. Heavy. Beautiful. She grabbed them, pinched her nipples, rolled them slow while she stared into his eyes. Stack’s grip on her hips tightened.

“You wanna taste ‘em, huh?” she teased, grinding harder.

Stack smirked, “Don’t tease me, Peach. I’ll flip you over this chair right now.”

Peaches laughed, low and throaty, “Oh, will you?”

She bent forward, kissing him—slow at first, then filthy, tongue tangling with his, her body pressing close. Stack groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to her ass, fingers gripping the flesh like it was his.

That’s when Peaches flipped it.

She pulled away, grabbed his wrists, and pinned his hands to the arms of the chair.

Stack blinked.

“…What you doin’, girl?”

Peaches smirked.

“You always in charge, huh? Always got these girls droppin’ to their knees, lettin’ you take every inch of control.” She rolled her hips again, her pussy dragging over his growing bulge through his slacks, “Not tonight. Tonight you sit back and let me make you beg.”

Stack’s breath hitched.

“You talkin’ big,” he muttered.

Peaches leaned in, her lips at his ear, voice dropping to a low growl.

“I move big. Watch.”

And before he could say a word, she slid down between his legs—not because he told her to, but because she wanted to. She looked up at him through heavy lashes as she unzipped his slacks, pulling his thick dick free, letting the cool air hit it.

Stack grunted, “Shit—”

Peaches smiled.

Then she licked him.

Slow. Long. Flat-tongued.

From base to tip, her saliva coating every inch as her hand stroked in rhythm. Stack’s head fell back, a sound escaping him he didn’t mean to let out.

“You like that, daddy?” she teased, “Like my mouth on you?”

Stack looked down at her, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Yeah…I like it.”

“You gon’ love it.”

She took him deep, lips sealing around him, her throat working in smooth, controlled pulses. She rolled her neck, bobbing slow and slick, every motion deliberate. Stack groaned—loud—his hips jerking once.

“Fuck, Peach—shit—”

She pulled off with a wet pop, spit and precum glistening on her chin. Her hand kept stroking him as she leaned in close, whispering:

“You ain’t runnin’ shit right now. You just sittin’ there lettin’ me ruin you.”

Stack stared at her, chest heaving.

“…Goddamn.”

And she went back in—slurping, gulping, humming, sucking him like she was writing her name on his soul.

Stack, for once, didn’t know what to do with his hands. He let her work, let her dominate him with her mouth, and for the first time in years, he felt out of control.

Peaches popped off his dick again with a loud, wet slurp and stared up at him, lips swollen and glistening, spit dripping off her chin.

“Uh-uh, baby,” she said, voice sweet and dangerous, “Don’t you reach for me.”

Stack’s chest heaved. “I—fuck—I can’t help it—”

“You can,” she said, standing just enough to lean into him, her breath on his lips, “And you will. Now bring them hands up.”

Stack blinked, confused, stunned, dick still jumping between them.

Peaches smirked and whispered, “Grab the back of that chair.”

Stack slowly raised his arms, hooking both hands over the top of the leather. His muscles flexed. His breath came hard.

“Now don’t let go,” she purred, trailing her fingers down his chest, “You move them hands before I say, you don’t get to cum.”

He swallowed, “Yes, ma’am.”

She grinned.

“Good boy.”

And then she dropped again.

Mouth wide. Tongue flat. Full submission of throat.

She devoured him—slow stroke, then fast. Tongue twisted, throat fluttered, lips sealed tight around the base as her nose pressed into his pelvis. Her hands gripped his thighs, squeezing just enough to anchor him, her nails biting into his skin.

And all the while?

She was looking up.

Right into his soul.

Stack stared down at her, jaw clenched, hands gripping the leather behind his head like his life depended on it. His thighs trembled. His lips parted. He looked completely wrecked.

“Shit…Peaches…what the fuck…” he moaned, almost whispering it like a prayer.

She pulled back slow, lips dragging up his shaft, then swirled her tongue around the tip, licking up his precum with a hum.

“Don’t you dare look away,” she whispered, “I want you to watch me.”

Then she sucked the head again—hard, sloppy, loud.

Slurp. Gulp. Moan.

Her tits bounced with every bob, spit flying, dribbling down to his balls, her rhythm perfect. Controlled. She used her neck like a pro, tightening her throat, then releasing, then doing it again—just enough pressure to make him see stars.

“Peach—I’m close—I can’t—baby please—”

“You better hold it,” she said, not slowing once, “You better let me take you over the edge. Hands still on that chair, baby.”

He whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His entire body shook beneath her, thighs clenching, toes curling, abs flexing.

Peaches sped up. Faster now. Her hands sliding up to stroke the base while her mouth worked the top—wet, brutal, filthy. She sucked like she meant to break him.

Stack was gasping.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna—fuck—fuck—”

She nodded with him still in her mouth, humming deep.

That vibration?

Finished him.

His body snapped, his hips jerking once, twice—then he exploded into her mouth, hard, fast, shooting deep. He cried out, head falling back, hands still gripping the chair as his dick throbbed between her lips.

Peaches didn’t pull back.

She sucked him through it. All of it.

Drinking every drop. Swallowing with slow, delicious moans. Letting her tongue glide across the tip before she finally, finally pulled off.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

And smiled.

“You can let go now, daddy.”

Stack slumped in the chair like a man who’d seen the gates of heaven and hell.

“…You tryna kill me?”

Peaches straddled his lap again, licking her lips.

“Nah, baby,” she whispered against his mouth, “I’m tryna own you.”

Stack blinked up at her, still panting, still holding onto the back of the chair like his soul hadn’t fully come back down yet. His chest rose and fell in slow, shaky waves. His mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Peaches licked her lips slow, one last time.

Then smiled.

“Whew,” she said softly, half-laughing, mock fanning herself, “You good, daddy?”

Stack just stared.

Like a man watching the rapture walk out in red nails and thigh meat.

His voice came out hoarse.

“…Where the fuck you learn to do that?”

Peaches looked over her shoulder as she tied her robe loose and slow, the silk hugging her hips again. Her smile turned sly, playful.

“Mmm…” she teased, “a lady never tells.”

She leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the top of his head—soft, sweet—and whispered:

“But I’m glad you liked it.”

And with that, she straightened up, flipped her braid over her shoulder, and made her way to the door like she hadn’t just taken the breath from his body and the bones from his legs.

Stack tried to gather himself—but failed.

She was halfway out the room when the door cracked open.

Cordelia.

Stunning. Sharp. Dark red lips and matching heels. She stepped just into view, one eyebrow arched like she already knew everything.

Peaches winked as she slipped past her.

“All yours, Cordy.”

Cordelia looked her up and down, caught the smirk, then turned her gaze inside.

Stack was still there—ruined, legs wide, chest heaving, sweat clinging to him, pants still open, hair messy, mouth parted.

Cordelia tilted her head, then let out a short, musical laugh.

“Well damn,” she said, hand on her hip, “Didn’t think I’d see you speechless.”

Stack wiped a hand down his face, still dazed.

Cordelia smirked and leaned against the doorframe.

“She flipped you, huh?” she teased, “Got in that chair and reminded you who got the power between them thighs.”

Stack shook his head slowly.

“…Don’t even know what to say.”

Cordelia laughed louder this time, reaching to close the door behind her.

“Mmhmm. That’s what I thought.”

And with a wink, she let the door click shut—leaving Stack alone, still tasting Peaches in the air, still feeling her in every twitch of his body, and wondering what the hell just happened to him.

Cordelia crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and looked Peaches up and down.

Then she let out a deep, satisfied laugh.

“Baaaaby,” she said, dragging the word like silk, “You ain’t even been here a week and you already got Stack lookin’ like somebody took the bones out his body.”

Peaches cackled, adjusting the top of her robe, “He was talkin’ all big, too. ‘Gon flip you over this chair’… ‘Gon stretch you out’…”

Cordelia raised a brow, “And you flipped him.”

“Sure did.” Peaches popped her lips, “Had him holdin’ onto that chair like it was floatin’ in deep water.”

Cordelia hollered, leaning against the wall and bending slightly, one hand on her knee, “Ooooh you wrong for that!”

Peaches was giggling now, playful and proud.

Cordelia straightened up, eyes still gleaming.

“Nah but for real? I love your energy,” she said, smile settling into something warm, “You ain’t scared of nobody. Not even Stack. And that man be out here actin’ like God got him on retainer.”

Peaches laughed but looked at her—really looked.

“And you? You been here a minute,” she said, “The way you move…all them girls look up to you.”

Cordelia shrugged, but her grin stayed cocky. “Somebody gotta teach these babies how to handle power and heels at the same time.”

Peaches nodded, “Well, I think me and you? We gon’ make a hell of a team.”

Cordelia pushed off the wall, stepped closer, voice low and sister-sweet.

“We already do, Peach.”

She tapped Peaches’ hip and added with a wink, “Thick girls gotta stick together in this place. These niggas ain’t ready for all this softness in one room.”

Peaches smirked, hand on her hip, “They gon’ learn today.”

Cordelia reached for her hand, gave it a tight squeeze.

“You need anything—anything—you come find me. I mean that.”

Peaches squeezed back, “Same goes for you.”

Cordelia smiled, warm and real.

Then she looked toward Stack’s door, lowered her voice, and said with a grin:

“You know he ain’t gon’ stop thinkin’ about you now, right?”

Peaches rolled her eyes playfully, “That man already think he in love.”

Cordelia laughed, “Mmhmm. And that’s your problem now.”

Peaches gave her a playful shove, “Girl, shut up.”

And the two walked down the hall together—hips swaying, laughter echoing, thick thighs and thick power moving through The Blackline like they owned it.

Because honestly?

They did.

He realizes too late…

He’s the one getting ridden all the way down into the mattress.

And the kicker? The only other woman who’s ever made it into this room before was Cordelia—and Stack’s about to realize why Peaches deserves that same crown…

Phase Two

Stack was already shirtless when she entered, tattoos stretched across his chest, slacks hanging low. He leaned against the edge of the bed, gold tooth glinting as he smiled slow and wide.

“You made it to Phase Two,” he said, eyes dragging over her body like syrup, “Only one other girl been in this room.”

Peaches raised a brow, “Let me guess. Cordelia.”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded, “She earned it.”

Peaches stepped closer, hips swaying, her full figure moving like a threat dressed in perfume.

“Good. I plan to do the same.”

Stack’s grin deepened. He sat down on the edge of the bed, legs spread, dick already hard and waiting, twitching beneath the loose slacks.

“Phase Two,” he said, voice thick, “is about stamina. Control. You get on this dick and show me you can ride. Not bounce like you cute. Ride it. Grip it. Take it all. Show me you can own it without losing rhythm.”

Peaches nodded slow, licking her lips.

“Yes, Daddy.”

That made him grunt.

“Good girl,” he muttered, “Now come take it.”

She moved like honey poured over heat—slow, decadent, unstoppable. She straddled him, thick thighs spreading wide, her weight grounding her hips against his lap. She reached between them, pulled his dick free, and rubbed it along her slick slit, teasing, soaking it.

Stack groaned.

Then she sank down.

Slow. Deep. Every inch.

Stack’s head fell back, “Fuck.”

Peaches let out a low moan, then grinned, “You feel that, Daddy?”

“I feel it.”

“You gon’ feel all of it.”

She started to ride.

Slow at first—grindin’, rockin’, just massaging his dick with her pussy like she was workin’ dough in a bowl. Stack gripped her hips, tried to set the pace, but Peaches slapped his hands away.

“Uh-uh. You said ride, didn’t you?”

Stack blinked, stunned, “…I did.”

“Then sit back,” she whispered, rolling her hips again, deeper, dragging that fat pussy across every inch of him, her weight making it hit different.

He grunted. “Shit—”

She began to move faster, but it wasn’t just speed—it was precision. Her pussy gripped him like velvet, her thighs keeping control, her rhythm unbroken. She alternated grinds with bounces, her ass slapping down against his thighs, the sound wet, nasty, perfect.

Stack’s hands gripped the sheets.

“Goddamn, Peach—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, still movin’, “Let Mama work.”

He stared up at her, mouth open, breathing hard, his usual filth caught in his throat because he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even handle what she was doing to him.

Peaches grabbed her tits, rode deeper, hips circling, that BBW body raining pressure down on him like a full-body blessing.

“You said keep up,” she moaned, hair sticking to her neck, “But you the one tryna tap out.”

Stack could only groan, his thighs twitching beneath her.

She leaned forward, lips brushing his ear.

“Look at you,” she whispered, “Wanna be in charge so bad. But you ain’t in control of nothin’ right now.”

Then she sat up again and bounced harder.

Ass clapping. Tits swinging. Wetness dripping.

Stack choked out her name.

“Peach—fuck—baby—slow down—”

But she didn’t.

She rode him like she was claiming land. Like that dick had a deed on it and she was signing her name with every bounce, every grind, every filthy cry.

And when she finally felt him twitch, close, about to break?

She stopped.

Ground her hips slow, pussy fluttering around his dick and said with a smirk:

“You wanna cum, Daddy?”

He nodded, desperate.

“Then beg.”

Stack let out a broken, humbled laugh.

“Shit…Peaches…”

“Beg me.”

“Please,” he groaned, “Please let me cum. Let me cum in this pussy, baby. You got it. You win.”

She moaned low, leaned in close, kissed his mouth with tongue and sweat.

Then rode him again.

“Beg nicely,” Peaches toyed with him.

“Can I cum in this fat, fuckin’ pussy, please?”

“…no.”

Peaches lifted off his dick, wrapped her lips around him and slid down to the base. Stack came hard—deep, loud, wrecked, dick buried in the back of her throat while his body jerked and seized. She kept him from releasing beneath all that thick, perfect weight.

Peaches slowly released his dick from her mouth while he twitched.

And whispered in his ear:

“Phase Two? Complete.”

The Blackline’s private upstairs bath. The room is dim with soft amber lamplight, a clawfoot tub filled with steaming water, rose petals scattered lazily across the surface. A wooden tray rests on the rim with oils, soap, a soft sponge, and a basin of warm rinse water. Stack is already in the tub—shoulders broad and relaxed, head tipped back, eyes closed, steam curling around him like smoke…

The water lapped quietly against the porcelain, soft splashes echoing in the stillness.

Stack had one arm slung over the edge, the other resting on his chest, fingers occasionally flexing like he was trying to shake off a thought.

“Where the hell that girl go?” he muttered, brows twitching beneath closed lids, “Ain’t got time to be sittin’ here wet and waitin’…”

The door creaked open.

Soft.

Silent.

Peaches stepped in on bare feet, wrapped in her own silk robe, the hem just brushing her thick thighs. Her hair was tied up high, a few loose curls slicked to her temple. She saw him laid out—chest rising slow, lips parted, the slope of his neck glistening with sweat and steam—and smiled to herself.

She didn’t say a word.

She moved to the basket the other girl had been preparing, rearranged the soap and oils the way she liked it, plucked a warm towel from the rack and placed it close.

Then, she crept closer.

Stack groaned.

“Damn it, girl, I said bring the scrub, not leave me sittin’ in here like—”

His eyes blinked open fast.

And locked onto hers.

Peaches stood at the side of the tub, one hand on her hip, the other trailing down to grab the bar of sweet bay rum soap. Her smirk was slow, wicked, proud.

“Well,” she said, low and amused, “You ain’t dead, so I guess I ain’t too late.”

Stack blinked. Sat up slightly.

“What you doin’ in here?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She shrugged, dropping the robe from her shoulders in one smooth pull.

The silk slid down and pooled at her feet, revealing her thick, naked body beneath—soft belly, warm brown thighs, heavy breasts rising with breath. The heat from the bath fogged the mirror behind her.

Peaches dipped the sponge in water, squeezing it once.

“I saw that lil girl tryna fumble her way through bathin’ you,” she said, “Figured I’d do it right.”

Stack watched her like a man trying to remember how to breathe.

She knelt beside the tub and leaned in.

“I ain’t one of these half-scared girls just here to make you feel important,” she whispered, dragging the sponge over his shoulder, “I want you to feel…good.”

He groaned softly as the sponge slid across his chest, trailing steam-slick paths down his torso.

“You somethin’ else,” he muttered.

“I know.”

She dipped the sponge again, slower this time. The water rippled. Her hand was steady.

She began to work—sponge in one hand, warm water in the other—slowly washing down his chest, tracing the curve of his ribs, the deep cut of his stomach. She didn’t flinch at the scars. She admired them. Touched them like they were treasure maps.

Stack watched her now—eyes hooded, lips slightly parted, breathing shifting from slow to something deeper.

When she reached the waterline, her hand stopped.

“I can keep goin’,” she said, “or you can ask me to.”

Stack’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. A beat passed.

“Keep goin’,” he murmured.

Peaches dipped both hands beneath the surface, sponge forgotten now, and slid her palms down the insides of his thighs. She washed every inch of him— no shame, no hesitance, just smooth, controlled touch that had Stack’s breath catching in his throat.

“You let that other girl touch you like this?” she asked, low and amused.

He scoffed, “She ain’t never even made it this far.”

“Didn’t think so.”

She poured water over his chest again, slow and deliberate, and when she leaned in to reach around him, her bare breasts brushed his shoulder. On purpose.

“Peaches,” he rasped.

She tilted her head, “Mmhmm?”

“You tryna get me hard in this tub?”

“I ain’t tryin’,” she said, fingers trailing under the water, “You already there.”

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

She met his eyes—bold, firelight flickering in both sets.

He pulled her closer, chest rising fast now.

“You keep fuckin’ with me like this, I’ma have you on that tile floor in ten seconds.”

Peaches smiled.

“I ain’t scared of water,” she whispered.

Stack’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist, the tension taut between them—but Peaches didn’t flinch. She held his gaze like she already knew what he was thinking…and just wanted to hear him say it.

Then, under the surface of the water, her fingers moved again. Slow. Gentle. Purposeful.

He twitched against her palm.

“See how easy you give it up?” she whispered, voice warm as the steam swirling around them, “Ain’t even tryin’ hard.”

Her hand moved again, stroking him beneath the surface. She leaned closer, lips near his ear, whispering filth laced with syrup.

“Feels heavy in my hand,” she breathed, “Hot. So thick. Bet it’d feel even better on my tongue…”

Stack’s jaw locked. His eyes rolled halfway shut before he forced them open again, fixing them on her face.

“What else?” she whispered, still stroking, “Besides this. Besides wet pussy and deep throats—what else gets you?”

He hesitated. That was rare. Stack always knew what he liked. Always took what he wanted. But Peaches? She was different. She didn’t take it—she earned it from him, peeled it right off his skin with a smile.

“C’mon,” she coaxed, licking her lips, “You already halfway gone. Might as well give me the rest.”

Stack’s eyes slid down her body. The way her bare breasts glistened from the heat. The way her thighs parted slightly even though she was kneeling. The way her lips curled like they already knew his secrets.

“…feet,” he said finally, voice low and reluctant.

Peaches stilled her hand just long enough to let the confession hang in the air, then gripped him tighter.

“Feet?” she echoed, a little smirk in her voice.

He nodded slowly, “Pretty ones. Painted up nice. Soft. I like the way they move when a woman’s ridin’. I watch ‘em curl.”

Peaches bit her bottom lip, “You like when they press against you? Rub all up your chest?”

Stack groaned.

She leaned even closer, lips brushing his earlobe now. “You like when a woman puts her pretty feet on your face and lets you smell how warm she is?”

His head tipped back.

“I knew it,” she whispered, “You like it nasty. Real nasty.”

Then she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again—and he looked wrecked.

But she wasn’t done.

“Tell me somethin’ else,” she said softly, still stroking under the water. “Somethin’ you don’t tell nobody.”

Stack was breathing heavy now. Water beading on his chest. Lips parted. She watched him try to decide if he should keep it to himself.

And then he said it—quiet, raw, vulnerable:

“…sometimes, when I’m alone,” he murmured, “I—taste it.”

Peaches blinked slow.

“You taste what, baby?”

“…mine.”

His eyes lifted, met hers.

Peaches let out a low moan—real, unfiltered. Her lips parted, pupils dilated. She didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t laugh. She just leaned in close, brushing her lips over his cheek, then his ear, and whispered:

“That’s the hottest shit I ever heard.”

The confession still hung in the air like steam—thick, hot, daring.

Stack’s chest rose in steady rhythm, his arms now resting along the edge of the tub. He didn’t say anything after that last truth—just watched her. Eyes hooded. Lips parted. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see.

Peaches soaked it in.

And then she moved.

Quiet, deliberate.

She reached for the rinsing basin, still warm, and slid it closer to the edge of the tub. Then, gently, she lifted one of Stack’s heavy legs out of the bathwater, guiding his foot into her lap like it belonged there.

“Let me touch what carries you,” she spoke softly, almost to herself.

Stack raised an eyebrow, watching her—part suspicion, part awe.

She picked up a soft cloth, dipped it in the warm basin, and began to wash.

It wasn’t rushed. She cradled his foot in both hands, turning it gently, fingers gliding across the arch, the heel, the ball. The cloth moved in slow circles, massaging, not just cleaning. Her thumbs pressed into the sole with care, like she was reading something sacred through his skin.

Stack watched, chest tight.

She glanced up then—those deep, honeyed eyes full of heat and pride.

“These feet done stomped through war, through Chicago back alleys, through Delta dirt. All that blood on your name…and you still walk like a king. Deserve to be tended to like one.”

Stack swallowed.

Peaches smirked, “But you mine right now.”

She slid her fingers between his toes, and he groaned —not from discomfort, but from the pure vulnerability of the act.

“Red suit you,” she whispered, noticing the faint red polish still on her own toes, “Next time I’ll paint mine while I sit in your lap. Make you watch.”

She lifted his foot and kissed the arch.

Stack’s eyes closed briefly.

She moved to the other foot, repeating the slow ceremony—cloth gliding, fingers strong but gentle. She took her time, circling her thumbs into the pads beneath his toes, watching every twitch, every shift of his jaw.

He finally spoke again.

“…you know what you doin’?”

Peaches smiled faintly, “Always.”

She dried him with a warm towel, slow and sensual, then kissed both feet again before setting them back into the tub. When she stood, her body dripped with steam, her hair slightly damp, her hands scented of oil and him.

Stack reached for her wrist.

“I ain’t done with you,” he rasped.

“You ain’t supposed to be,” she said, leaning down to kiss his mouth—slow, deep, claiming.

Peaches dried him slow. Let him sit there in the steam like royalty while she gathered the towel tight around his shoulders, then reached for the whiskey she brought—because Stack always liked a sip after heat.

But he didn’t reach for the glass.

He was just watching her. Quiet.

Not brooding. Just…quiet.

Peaches cocked her head. “You alright?”

He nodded once.

But something in his face was different—slack with thought, like whatever just passed between them had tugged at something he wasn’t used to showing.

She crossed her arms under her chest, still damp, robe tied back around her body now, “You lookin’ at me like I done cast a spell.”

Stack huffed a laugh under his breath, leaning forward, arms on his knees.

Then, he said it.

“…you get to me.”

Peaches blinked, surprised he’d said it out loud.

“I do?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. Rough, “You do.”

His eyes drifted down to his feet, now clean and resting on the checkered floor tile, before flicking back to hers.

“You talk slick like the rest, but you don’t play the same. You don’t just want to please me. You want to own how I feel it.”

Peaches didn’t deny it.

“I ain’t just a body,” she said, “I’m a woman. I know what power feel like, and I know how to use it soft.”

Stack tilted his head, lips parting, “That’s what’s messin’ me up.”

She moved closer then—bare feet stepping soft on the tile—until she was between his knees. She bent slightly, cupped the side of his jaw, let her thumb stroke just beneath his lower lip.

“You ever been touched like this before?” she asked.

“…not like this.”

He meant more than the bath.

He meant the way she saw him.

“Good,” she whispered, “Then I get to be the first.”

They both stilled.

Steam curling at their feet. The whiskey still untouched. The bath now cooled behind them.

And then Stack said, almost to himself:

“You dangerous.”

Peaches grinned slow, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Only if you fight it, sugar.”

It’s a slow afternoon at The Blackline. The main floor is quiet—curtains drawn to soften the light. Peaches and Cordelia are in the lounge, sipping sweet tea over crushed ice. Cordelia has one leg tucked beneath her, silk robe loose at the collar. Peaches is sprawled sideways on the fainting couch, toes painted red, still reeling from the bath earlier with Stack.

Cordelia swirled the ice in her glass with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“You took your sweet time up there with King Stack. Girl had a towel in her hand for forty-five minutes before she realized you wasn’t comin’ back down.”

Peaches smirked, biting her straw, “He was dirty. I did a thorough job.”

Cordelia gave her a look, “Uh huh. I bet you got between every toe.”

Peaches crossed her ankles, grinning, “Damn right I did.”

Cordelia leaned back with a knowing laugh, eyes narrowing just a little, “So what is it? You really got it bad for him, huh?”

Peaches tilted her head, lips pursed like she was about to play coy—then gave up the act with a shrug.

“…I do,” she said, matter-of-fact, “I got it bad bad.”

Cordelia perked up, “Oop—lemme get comfortable then. Go on, say it with your chest.”

Peaches laughed, tossed her head back, and let the tea glass clink gently on the table beside her.

“You ever just look at that man,” she said, slow and dreamy, “and wanna climb him like a sugar maple?”

Cordelia choked. “Girl—!”

“I’m serious,” Peaches said, waving a hand, “He walk in all slow, got them dimples sittin’ pretty in that smug-ass face…Them lips always slick talkin’ some sinful shit, and all I’m thinkin’ is what else they could be doin’.”

Cordelia fanned herself, “You filthy.”

“And he got that swagger, Delia,” Peaches went on, eyes gone glossy with memory, “You seen the way he fixes his cufflinks? Like he know you watchin’—but he ain’t gon’ rush it. He likes bein’ admired.”

“Mmhmm,” Cordelia hummed, “He always smell good, too. Like bay rum and heat.”

“Yesss,” Peaches moaned, “And his voice—low and ragged like he just woke up from a bad dream and need me to rock him back to sleep…”

Cordelia snorted,,“You need help.”

“I need that man,” Peaches corrected, licking her lips, “I wanna ride that dimpled face and bless it. I wanna leave lip gloss on that thick neck and make him beg for it back.”

Cordelia threw a pillow at her.

Peaches caught it and hugged it with a wicked grin. “I’m just sayin’,” she whispered, “he keep makin’ these lil noises when I touch him? I’m liable to break somethin’ on purpose just so he gotta call me for help.”

They both fell into laughter then, doubled over with no shame, no filter. Just two women enjoying the way they spoke desire out loud.

Cordelia wiped her eye, “Lord, when Stack finds out just how deep you in, he ain’t never gon’ be right again.”

Peaches grinned slow, “That’s the plan.”

The laughter settled into a soft buzz, both women stretched out in the velvet heat of the lounge, sipping slow and grinning wide.

Peaches kicked her feet a little, eyes still dreamy. “I swear, that man could ruin me and I’d write him a thank you letter in lipstick.”

Cordelia gave her a sideways look, smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “You sound like me three summers ago.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Peaches sat up a little straighter, eyes glinting, “Go on then. Spill it. You and Stack—y’all ever…?”

Cordelia snorted, sipped her tea like it was liquor, “We ain’t never been exclusive, if that’s what you mean. But yeah, we done danced a few dances.”

Peaches’ grin widened, “Bet y’all was nasty.”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed playfully, “Always. But let me tell you somethin’—Stack think he like to share. All that big talk about threesomes and pretty girls tangled up in his sheets…but he don’t like when the girls forget about him.”

Peaches cackled, “I knew it!”

Cordelia leaned in, voice lowering like a delicious secret, “One night, me and this creole gal from Shreveport got to kissin’—real slow, real deep—while Stack was sittin’ back watchin’. Thought he was chill. Thought he was enjoyin’ it.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Oh, he was…‘til we kept goin’ without him.” Cordelia smirked, “That man got off the bed, grabbed my chin, and told me ‘Don’t make me remind you who’s runnin’ this show.’”

Peaches fanned herself, “Lord have mercy…”

Cordelia laughed. “He don’t mind a show. But he don’t like bein’ left out the spotlight.”

They both giggled again, soft and knowing, bonded by secrets only girls like them ever shared.

Then Cordelia’s voice dropped a note, smoky and sweet.

“But you know what he do love? When I bend over slow at the end of the bed and shake this ass while he behind me. Naked. No music. Just the sound of this ass, wet pussy, and him breathin’ hard and tellin’ me ‘Do it again.’”

Peaches let out a slow, low hum, “Mmm. He like to watch.”

“He do,” Cordelia said, “He’s visual. Always has been. You get to movin’ just right, lookin’ back over your shoulder while he’s holdin’ himself? Whew. You’ll have that man crawlin’.”

Peaches let her tongue glide across her bottom lip, “Then I got him already.”

Cordelia winked, “I know you do.”

The low thump of a door closing signaled someone entering from the side.

Smoke strolled through the lounge in that slow, deliberate way of his—sleeves rolled up, holster peeking under his open vest, cigar between two fingers like it had been there since dawn. He didn’t look their way, didn’t nod, didn’t speak—just moved like a shadow on a mission.

Peaches and Cordelia both went quiet as he passed.

Watched every step.

Waited ‘til the office door clicked shut.

Then—

Peaches spoke, “Mmm. Somebody woke up grumpy.”

Cordelia chuckled, “That man always look like he fightin’ somethin’ internal.”

Peaches, tilting her head, eyes mischievous.

“He ever dipped his toe in the Blackline pool? You know…had a lil’ swim?”

Cordelia responded, flat, “Nope. Smoke don’t fuck girls from the house.”

Peaches’ brows shot up, “Not even a taste?”

Cordelia shook her head, “Don’t look twice, neither. Cordial, quiet, gone.”

Peaches licked her bottom lip slowly, “Mmm. Shame. I’d take both them Moore boys, stack ‘em like pancakes and slide some syrup between.”

Cordelia burst out laughing, nearly dropped her tea.

Peaches, grinning proud, “Look like Smoke need some nookie, though. Somethin’ warm to knock that chill off his bones. He too fine to be walkin’ around lookin’ like the ghost of Christmas ain’t-never-came.”

Cordelia fanned herself, still laughing, “You stupid.”

Peaches shrugged, “Just honest.”

They clinked their glasses.

The air in Stack’s office was thick with tension.

Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals as Smoke leaned back in the leather armchair across from the desk, voice low and gravelled.

“I don’t trust Vaughn’s numbers. Too clean.”

Stack sat behind the desk, sleeves rolled, jaw ticking. He’d been pacing before settling in.

“We ain’t lettin’ no preacher pimp out the numbers game under our nose. You wanna hit back, hit back loud.”

Smoke nodded, “Loud and clean.”

Stack opened his mouth to reply—then froze.

His eyes caught movement through the open door that led into the hall. At first it was just a swish of fabric. Ivory silk. The faintest whiff of vanilla and summer peaches.

Then he saw her.

Peaches.

Barefoot. Wearing the thinnest slip known to man—barely dusting the curve of her thighs. No bloomers. No drawers. No shame.

She didn’t say a word.

Just caught his gaze.

Held it.

Then, like a slow sin on a Sunday morning, she turned around right there in the open hall, bent over deep, hands gripping her ankles, and shook her ass in the most obscene, hypnotic rhythm he’d ever seen.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Stack’s mouth dropped open. Speechless.

“Stack?” Smoke asked, not looking up, “You hear me?”

Stack blinked, didn’t answer.

Peaches straightened, gave him one last glance over her shoulder with a smirk so filthy it could’ve started a fire, then disappeared around the corner like nothing ever happened.

Smoke stood up, “The hell got into you?”

Stack snapped out of it just as Smoke crossed to his side and looked out the door.

Nobody there.

Just empty hall.

Silence.

Smoke narrowed his eyes, “You seein’ ghosts now?”

Stack cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Somethin’ like that.”

Smoke gave him a look, “Uh huh.”

But Stack didn’t elaborate.

He sat back down slow, eyes still locked on the spot where Peaches had been. His palms rested on the desk like he needed grounding.

The deal could wait.

He was officially ruined.

Stack hadn’t touched her in days.

Not since that stunt outside his office—the one where she bent over slow and gave him a view no man should witness without consequences. And she knew what she was doing. Had the nerve to walk away after like she ain’t just set a fire in his blood.

Since then, he’d watched her quietly.

Watched how she’d taken to the house like she’d been born in it—pullin’ in high rollers, dressing to kill, makin’ grown men spend their whole check just to get near her perfume. She was glitter and heat and danger in silk, and she was his.

But she’d been showin’ out.

And he needed to remind her.

That morning, Stack lit a match, pressed it to the tip of his cigarette, and paced his room barefoot—bare chest rising slow with every breath, slacks slung low, tension pulling tight across his shoulders.

He’d waited long enough.

Time to finish what he started.

Time to show her who she belonged to.

He opened the door, called for one of the girls with a look sharp enough to cut.

“Tell her I want her upstairs.”

The morning stretched across Little Rock in streaks of syrupy gold, soft and unbothered. The Blackline was hushed—the stage unlit, the halls still, the piano keys resting untouched from the night before. The only sounds were the faint clink of teacups downstairs and the soft brushing of someone’s broom in the far back hallway.

Peaches lay half-awake in her bed, face turned toward the lace-curtained window, one leg outside the covers, toes flexing now and then in the quiet. Her room still smelled like honey-dipped perfume and night sweat. Her body still felt half drunk on sleep…and something else she hadn’t named.

Then came the knock.

Two soft taps.

Peaches didn’t move, not until the door cracked slightly and a familiar girl’s voice whispered, “He want you upstairs.”

No name.

Didn’t need one.

Peaches blinked slowly, “When?”

The girl smiled faintly, “Now.”

She didn’t rush. Just slid out the bed, let the cotton robe fall over her shoulders, and tied it at the waist. Her hair was still in its wrap, but she didn’t touch it. He wasn’t summoning no showgirl. He wanted her.

The walk up the back stairs was quiet—familiar creaks, familiar hush. The sun streamed in through the upper windows like it had business there, casting golden lines along the polished wood.

She didn’t knock.

Just opened the door and stepped inside.

Stack was already pacing.

Shirtless.

Slacks slung low over his hips, the line of his abdomen visible beneath the soft, golden morning light. His bare feet made no sound on the worn rug, and his jaw was clenched like he’d been chewing on something bitter and hot all night.

He paused when she entered but didn’t turn right away. Just let his fingers brush through his hair once, like they itched to pull something. Maybe her.

“Door shut?” he asked, voice low.

Peaches nudged it closed without a word.

When he turned, his eyes were already on her. Tired. Wild. Intense in that quiet, burning way he got when something had been eating at him and he was done trying to ignore it.

She leaned back against the closed door, arms folded loose across her middle. “You rang?”

Stack didn’t answer right away.

He just stared at her, eyes dragging over her like his fingers were already there.

Then, softly:

“You ain’t had no business walkin’ past my office yesterday like that.”

Peaches raised one brow, “I was stretchin’.”

“You was tauntin’,” he shot back, voice rougher now. “Had me sittin’ there like a damn fool while you out there clappin’ that ass like church bells.”

Peaches smiled slow, “And what you do when church bells ring, Daddy?”

Stack stepped forward once, like the leash on his self-control had snapped halfway through the night.

“I answer,” he growled.

Silence stretched between them, thick as molasses, charged with something electric.

Stack’s chest rose with a deep breath, “Get over here.”

Peaches tilted her head. “What if I don’t?”

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Just said, low and sure, “Then I’ll come take you.”

Her breath hitched—just a little (🤏🏿).

She didn’t move right away.

But her robe slipped a little lower on one shoulder.

And her toes curled softly into the floor.

Stack didn’t move at first.

He just stood there—bare chest rising slow, jaw tight, eyes locked on her like he was starving and furious about it.

Peaches stayed against the door. Calm. Amused. Dangerous.

“I told you to come here,” he said again, voice low.

She smiled soft, “And I heard you just fine.”

Stack took a slow step toward her, “You think this shit funny?”

“I think it’s cute,” she said, tilting her head, “You mad ‘cause I ain’t crawl to you like the rest?”

Another step.

“Girl, I run this house.”

She stepped forward to meet him, “And I run you.”

That shut him up. For a second.

His jaw clenched. His breath caught. His body wanted to grab her, shove her to the bed, claim her.

But his pride was stuck between his ribs.

“You walked that fine ass past my office like you wanted to ruin me.”

“I did.”

“You came in my house, my space—”

“And made you submit,” she said, stepping in so close her breath hit his lips, “Made you sit quiet in that chair with your dick hard and your mouth shut.”

Stack flinched like the words slapped.

Peaches grinned wider.

“You the King, Stack. I know that,” she said, her voice syrup-sweet now, “But I ain’t no pawn. I move how I move.”

He still didn’t say nothing.

His lips parted slightly, breathing harder now.

“And since I’m one of your girls,” she added, brushing her chest just barely against his, “I might let you boss me around.”

She leaned up, close to his ear. Whispered it slow.

“But you still gon’ do what I say…when I say it…with your fine self.”

When she pulled back, Stack’s mouth was open like he had something to say, but no words came.

Speechless.

Her eyes danced.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

She turned from the door and moved past him—a slow brush of hips, a whisper of heat—like she already knew she’d won this round.

Stack watched her walk across his room, fists flexing at his sides, still trying to figure out how the hell she’d gotten the drop on him again.

And why it turned him on so damn bad.

Peaches didn’t linger after shutting him up.

She let her fingers trail down his chest—just a touch— before turning her back and sashaying across the room, robe swaying like a tease, hips rolling like thunder in slow motion.

She paused at the door, hand on the knob, and looked over her shoulder.

“Stay sweet, Daddy.”

Click.

Gone.

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED:

Stack couldn’t shake her.

Not that he tried.

He’d catch her in the hallway, laughing with one of the girls, hair tied in silk, stockings hugging her thick thighs like they was painted on. She’d glance his way, let her eyes travel down his body like he was just another appetizer—then keep it movin’.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t speak.

Just looked.

A look that said she knew exactly how much he wanted her.

One afternoon, he was in the back parlor. Curtains drawn. Mirabel on her knees between his thighs, working her mouth like a girl desperate to please, pretty lips stretched around him, hands shaking slightly with effort.

He was barely paying attention.

The door to the hallway creaked open, and that honey-rich scent hit the air before she even stepped inside.

Peaches.

Stack opened his eyes.

She walked past slow, wearing a form-fitting satin number that glistened like peach nectar, breasts soft and high, thighs thick and bare beneath the hem. No panties.

She saw him.

Saw Mirabel.

Didn’t blink.

She just gave him that look—the one where her lips curled at the corners like she already had him wrapped, owned, conquered. Then she swayed on past, hips switching like music, knowing damn well he’d be useless the rest of the day.

By the time night fell, Stack was seething quiet. Not with anger.

With hunger.

She had him starved, and she knew it.

And still, she didn’t fold.

Didn’t beg.

Didn’t come knocking.

Just strutted through the house with power in her step and a little smile on her lips—the kind that said, you’ll come to me when you ready to behave.

And he was this close.

This damn close.

It was late.

The Blackline was humming low—the clink of glasses downstairs, soft jazz from the gramophone, a few muffled laughs from the card room.

Peaches had just finished her set, rhinestones still clinging to her skin, that peach-colored silk dress hugging every generous curve. She slipped out the back hallway toward her room, hips moving in that same slow, rolling sway that had been driving Stack insane for days.

She turned the corner and nearly ran into him.

Stack.

Leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting.

Bare chest beneath an open shirt, sleeves rolled, slacks loose on his hips. Eyes sharp. Hungry.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just straightened, towering over her, blocking the hallway with his body.

Peaches tilted her chin up, lips curling in that soft, taunting smile, “Daddy.”

That was all it took.

He grabbed her.

Big hands on her waist, spinning her until her back hit the wall. She gasped, but he was already there—chest pressing into hers, mouth at her ear.

“You wanted my attention?” he growled, voice low, thick, “Now you got it.”

Peaches licked her lips, that same smile tugging her mouth, “Took you long enough.”

Stack’s hand shot up, fisted in her hair, jerking her head back just enough so he could look her in the eye.

“You been struttin’ around my house like you runnin’ shit,” he rasped, “Got me sittin’ in my own office hard as a rock while you just keep on walkin’. You think you gon’ keep playin’ with me, girl?”

Peaches’ breath hitched, “I might.”

Stack’s jaw flexed, “Nah. You ain’t.”

He kissed her then.

Hard. Claiming. Tongue deep, teeth scraping her lip, groaning into her mouth like he was pulling her back into his orbit. His free hand slid up her thigh, dragging that dress high, high, until his fingers brushed bare skin.

“No panties?” he muttered against her lips, voice sharp with disbelief, “You been walkin’ around like this all night?”

“Mmhm,” Peaches whispered, breathless.

Stack’s teeth grazed her ear, “You dirty little tease.”

He lifted her without warning, big hands gripping her ass, pinning her to the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist.

“You gon’ take this dick,” he said, low and final, “Right here.”

Peaches moaned, arms clinging around his shoulders, “Then give it to me.”

Stack unzipped with one hand, freed himself, and lined up with that hot, dripping center he’d been starving for.

He didn’t ease in.

He slammed deep.

Peaches cried out, head snapping back, nails digging into his back, “Oh—shit—”

Stack growled, hips already pounding, each thrust hard enough to rattle the wall behind her.

“You think I’ma let you walk away again?” he grunted, thrusting deeper, harder, chest slick against hers, “Nah, baby. You mine.”

Peaches whimpered, meeting every stroke, dress bunched at her waist. “Yes—Daddy—fuck—”

“You gon’ remember this the next time you decide to test me,” he rasped, one hand gripping her throat lightly, thumb under her chin, “Say it. Who you belong to?”

“You,” she gasped, tears at the corners of her eyes from the intensity, “I’m yours, Stack. Yours.”

Stack’s thrusts turned relentless, filthy—grinding into her, grunting in her ear, whispering how sweet her pussy gripped him, how he’d been dreaming of this for days.

Peaches was moaning, sobbing out little praises, calling him Daddy, biting his shoulder just to ground herself as he took her apart.

When she came, it was hard and wet, her whole body clenching around him with a cry so loud he had to cover her mouth with his hand.

And he didn’t stop.

He fucked her through it, through the shaking and the tears and the trembling legs, until he slammed in deep one last time, chest trembling, jaw clenched, and groaned against her throat as his whole body locked up.

With a growl of restraint, he pulled out quick, gripped himself tight, and spilled hot all over her belly, pussy, and thighs, panting through his teeth as he stroked the last of it out with trembling hands.

His breath was ragged, forehead pressed to hers, sweat glistening down his spine.

They stayed like that a moment longer, pressed against the wall, her thighs still clinging around his waist, his release sticky between them, breathless and wrecked.

Stack kissed her throat—rough and lingering.

“Next time,” he rasped, voice hoarse, “you beg for it.”

Peaches let out a breathy laugh, eyes half-lidded, “Might just make you beg first.”

Peaches slid down the wall with her thighs still trembling, breath hot against his skin as she crouched between his legs on the floor. His dick hung heavy, still slick, twitching with the remnants of what they’d just done. Her lips curled into a sinful smile as she dragged her fingers between her thighs, collecting the thick mess of him and her, still warm, still wet. She moaned low at the feel of it.

Without breaking eye contact, she brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked slow—obscene. Her lashes fluttered, her tongue swirled, tasting the filth they’d made.

Stack growled deep in his chest, watching her tongue lap up every drop with a greedy tongue . He leaned back slightly, letting her have the view of his smug grin and the tension in his flexed abdomen.

“Goddamn, girl…” he rasped, voice thick, strained, “You nasty.”

Peaches just smirked, crawling back up over him with lazy hips and a mouth still wet, “Damn right.”

She reached down again, scooped up another mix of their cum from where it dripped along her inner thigh, and lifted her fingers to his mouth.

“Open,” she whispered.

Stack hesitated for only a heartbeat—then let her slide her fingers past his lips. He groaned around them as the taste hit his tongue—salt, musk, sweetness, sin. His eyes rolled shut for a moment as he sucked them clean, jaw clenching tight. The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a moan.

Peaches leaned in close, her lips brushing his jaw.

“Now you know how good we taste together.”

Stack’s tongue slid slow along her fingers as he sucked the last drop from her skin, his breath coming harder now, like the flavor of her had stirred something all over again. But Peaches wasn’t done—not even close. She watched his mouth work, then pulled her hand back with a soft pop of suction and dragged her wet fingers down his chest, nails lightly grazing the muscle and hair.

“Mmm,” she purred, bringing a thigh up again with that slow, bossy roll of her hips, “You think just ‘cause you picked me up like I ain’t weigh nothin’, slammed me against that wall, and fucked me full—you runnin’ things?”

Stack smirked, lips still glistening, “Ain’t that what I just did?”

Peaches leaned in, tongue flicking the sweat from his collarbone, her voice all molasses and bite, “Boy, please.”

She rocked her hips forward, just enough to tease him, not let him slip back in, not yet.

“You got my name tatted on that big ol’ dick now,” she whispered against his ear, “Stamped and branded. You feel me?” Her hand cupped him, possessive, “Every time it jump…it’s thinkin’ of me.”

Stack’s throat bobbed. His grip on her hips tightened. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. She had him, and they both knew it.

Peaches sat upright again, back arched, tits proud and glowing with sweat. She dragged her fingers down his chest one more time, then tapped his sternum with the tip of her nail.

“If you gon’ keep tryin’ to match this freak,” she said, slow and dangerous, “then you best learn to let me have my way when I want it. However I want it.”

Stack’s jaw ticked, breath caught in his throat, pupils blown wide.

“I don’t care if they call you King Stack,” she smirked, “That crown don’t mean shit when I’m sittin’ on your face…or ridin’ you till you beg me to stop.”

She leaned forward again, lips barely brushing his, “You gon’ let me play with you, baby?”

He growled, deep and ragged, and rolled them in one sharp motion—flipping her back to him, hand gripping her wrists above her head as he loomed.

“You talk slick, Peaches,” he rasped, voice thick with need, “You better be ready to back it up.”

She giggled, breathless, thighs parting on instinct.

“Oh, I’m ready, Daddy.”

@theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @theegoldenchild @blackpantherismyish @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg

[writingsbytee]

Tamir Rice should be celebrating his 23rd birthday today.

Instead, his life was stolen at just 12 years old when he was killed by an Ohio police officer.

We are thinking of you today and always, Tamir. Sending so much love to your family. 🤍

[writingsbytee]

Don’t Talk To Me 😤

Warnings: 18+ | You are a brat | Smoke is a Dom | Smoke is kind of toxic | Modern AU | Overstimulation | Masterbation |Coochie drilled into oblivion | Creampie | Possession | Jealousy | Ownership | He’s horny | You are horny | 98% smut 2% plot | Let me enjoy my kink for mean men… I’ll go to therapy for it later.

“And when we get back to this house,” he shouted, voice sharp enough to cut through bone, “don’t ask me to do a damn thing.”

Your hand flew up in a sharp dismissive wave as you twisted away from him in the passenger seat, the car jerking slightly as Smoke’s grip tightened around the wheel. “That’s fine! I don’t need you for a fucking thing ANYWAYS!”

The words sliced through the thick tension that had been hanging over the two of you like a thundercloud for the past two damn days. A silent war with no winners and a whole lot of heat. It all started because the barista down at Morning Bloom Coffee smiled a little too long when handing you your oat milk vanilla latte. The barista gave you a simple smile trying to be polite. Maybe he did it a second too long. Maybe not. But either way, Smoke saw red like he always did when it came to you and anyone who wasn’t him.

Without hesitation, he’d socked the man in the mouth so damn fast your drink hit the floor before you could blink. And now two full days later you both were still in a petty, fiery, jealous bender.

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

Your skincare routine? Luxurious.

Your work calls? On point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm… is that right...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “You sound stupid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You feel that?” he murmured.

You nodded weakly, lips parting.

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

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

A soft, broken sound spilled from your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded weakly unable to form words.

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

Your heart stuttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn right you won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it again.”

“Smoke—”

“Say. It. Again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

.

.

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

[writingsbytee]

Wicked Games

Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Breeding kink (technically it will eventually be kink filled, but we'll start here). Smutty times ahead.

Word count: 5.9 k. Uhh... I was ovulating when I wrote some of this, so...

Rebuilding my tag list, so please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed. Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. It's how us writers know you like what we're putting out. I love hearing y'all's thoughts. Shoutout to @rose-bliss for helping me out with the aesthetics of this story.

Chapter 1

The mirrored glass skyscraper loomed in front of her as she sat in her parked car, eyes going back and forth between the contract she’d been mailed and the front doors. Nyx Devereaux took a deep breath before applying a fresh coat of lip gloss.

It was now or never and her bills weren’t gonna pay themselves. She shoved her car door open and stepped out, smoothing her hands over her leather skirt. Her high heels clicked on the concrete as she walked up to the building, taking another deep breath to settle her nerves. It didn’t really help too much. Once inside, the doorman greeted her with a practiced smile.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“I’m here to see Terry Richmond.”

“Sign in here please. What’s your name?”

“Nyx Devereaux."

Nyx scribbled her name in the book while he rang Terry. In no time, she was in an elevator alone with her thoughts, hurtling through the clouds. The loud ding announcing her arrival to the penthouse floor made her jump.

“Calm the fuck down, bitch. Damn…”

The shiny elevators doors opened slowly and Nyx was unprepared for the man waiting for her on the other side. Terry Richmond was 6’3” of all American male. Caramel skinned, short cropped hair and piercing grey-green eyes. Nyx was sure most believed those feline-like eyes were his best feature, but for her, it was those lips.

Full, lush and framed in a neatly trimmed goatee. Those were the lips of a man who could suck the soul from a woman. Her breath hitched as she took him all in. He was huge, biceps straining against the short sleeves of his Henley. This might not be so difficult after all. At least he was sexy.

“Good evening, Nyx. It’s nice to meet you.”

His smile was warm and very sexy. It oddly put her at ease, the nerves in her belly calming down.

“Would you like to come in?”

She nodded and stepped over the threshold.

“Sorry… It’s nice to meet you too. I’m… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s perfectly normal to be a little nervous. Would you like a drink? We can go over the details… talk about what you’re ok with and what’s a hard no.”

“Yes please,” she said with a small smile. As she stepped further inside his apartment, she glanced around. His style was very minimalist and his wall of art stood out to her. He guided her deeper inside and into his kitchen.

“What’s your poison?”

“Do you have tequila?”

Terry chuckled softly as he made his way over to his bar cart. 

“You want it straight or a cocktail?”

“Can you make a Paloma?”

“I can make anything you want, darlin’.”

Nye felt the heat in her cheeks move down to the tops of her breasts as he flashed a confident smile over at her. The way he moved around his kitchen let her know that he was a man comfortable in this space. Her eyes drifted to his hands and forearms as he prepared her cocktail. Moments later, he sat it down in front of her. Terry didn’t move away. He stayed close, leaning against his kitchen counter. The woodsy scent of his cologne filled her nose and whatever it was, it smelled sexy…. Like cinnamon, vetiver, and a touch of musk. Those eyes watched her as she took the first sip, humming softly in pleasure. 

“What made you say yes to this?”

“Honestly, I need the money for school as cliche as that sounds. Your ad intrigued me. And when you sent a photo I thought “well, at least he’s not a gremlin”. 

Terry chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest.

“At least I’m not a gremlin.”

“I just… You’re very handsome. I’m sure you know that already. Makes this whole thing… easier.”

“Look, Nyx, today’s scene can be as intense or as calm as you need it to be. Ok? We can go all in or we can just play.”

“Play?”

“If you’re not comfortable with… me inside you, I can just make you cum. Your intro video can literally just be me making you cum all night. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“But the contract…”

“We can make adjustments.”

Nyx took another sip of her drink, a bigger one this time, focusing on the taste of grapefruit and tequila. She reached into her purse, pulling out the folded contract. His eyes went to the folded paper as she smoothed it out with her small hands.

“Would you like to go over it?”

“I would.”

Terry nodded and walked over to his fridge, grabbing a beer for himself and popping the cap. He stood across from her, waiting for her to speak first.

“Umm… I know you said you’d pay more if we didn’t use condoms in the scene.”

“I would and I have my most recent results for you.”

He reached over and slid a manilla envelope in front of her. 

"I also have mine. As well as proof that I have an IUD.”

“Thank you. I’d also want you to be aware that while we are filming together, I’m not sleeping with other women without condoms and I ask that you do the same with your partners.”

“I’m very single,” she said, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re going to be the first man I’ve slept with in over a year.”

“There’s no way a woman as beautiful as you doesn’t have men at her beck and call.”

“Men in this city are trash. No offense. It’s not even worth the free meal to go on a date these days.”

“Damn… sounds bleak.”

“I’m mentally preparing to get a couple cats and become a crazy old cat lady.”

The laugh he let out that time was genuine and she couldn’t help the little smile on her face when she heard it. 

“I don’t think you’ll end up a cat lady, Nyx. Not with a face like yours.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said with a smile. 

“Any time. What do you want to talk about next?”

Nyx flipped to the second page of the contract. This page detailed the list of things he wanted to do with and to her.

“This list is quite extensive. I haven’t done a lot of this.”

“Does anything peak your interest? Or sound like something you wouldn’t like?”

“What’s somnophilia?”

Her dark eyes met his,  a telltale blush on her cheeks as she waited for him to answer.

“It means I’d like to fuck you while you’re asleep… or at least be inside you. It requires trust, so we’d save that one for later.”

“You… why?”

“I like the control aspect of it. Watching my partner sleep peacefully… watching her beautiful body as she rests. Something about knowing you feel safe enough to rest in my presence is a turn on. The asleep part usually only lasts until I’m inside you… your body wakes up up when you begin to feel the pleasure. Nothing I love more than waking my partner up with my mouth on her pussy.”

Nyx felt her nipples harden behind the tragically thin lace of her bra and gasped softly. Just looking at those full lips of his, she knew he was an eater. And with a voice like that, Nyx knew he’d talk her all the way through it. She cleared her throat and took another sip of her cocktail.

“The voyeurism… would that just be here or in public?”

“Here in my home. I have a room specifically for filming where there are cameras always setup. The same in the attached bathroom. When you’re in those spaces, you can always assume you’re being watched by me. I probably wouldn’t risk taking you in public,” he said, a naughty smirk on his handsome face. “I’m quite loud and it’s… messy.”

“Messy?”

“I cum… a lot. One of the reasons I prefer bareback sex on camera. Trying to snap a condom off in the midst of passion isn’t it.”

“Have you had a lot of partners? I mean, on camera partners?”

“No. You would be the second.. If you agreed.”

“The dominance and submission  clause… what does that include? Is it only on camera?”

  “Only on camera. We would have to have a deeper discussion later if the both of us wanted that kind of relationship off camera as well. And it probably doesn’t include what you think it does. Yes, I would want to dominate you in order to bring you pleasure. I’d want to build that trust over time and convince you that submitting to me isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength to just relax and let yourself be cared for in all ways.”

Nyx nibbled her full bottom lip, wincing when she tasted the sharp metallic taste of her own blood. Terry’s moss colored eyes were focused on her face, an earnestness in them that she wasn’t expecting.

“What if we don’t work well together on camera?”

“Nyx… you’re a beautiful woman. I’m most definitely attracted to you and I’m hoping the feeling is mutual. As long as you’re willing to have a little fun, I’m sure you and I will thoroughly enjoy one another. How about we use tonight as a trial? You don’t have to be locked in to a contract before sampling the goods. If you hate it, I won’t release the footage and you still leave five grand richer.”

Terry’s hand reached out to cradle her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against her swollen bottom lip. His scent surrounded her as he stepped closer. Nyx could feel her heartbeat strumming in her chest as his eyes searched hers for a moment, before making the choice to lean in and kiss her. Those lips were as soft as they looked and she moaned softly when his tongue gently traced her bottom lip, soothing the sting where she’d bitten herself. His massive hands slid around her waist, pulling her in closer to him as he deepened the kiss. He kept the kiss gentle, holding her curvy little body against his and letting her feel what she did to him. And there was no way Nyx could miss that throbbing beast against her flat belly. She reached up, slipping her arms around his neck, tilting her head as Terry deepened the kiss. He smoothed his hands down to her hips before gripping her ass. He kneaded her flesh before lifting her onto the counter, stepping between her spread thighs. 

“Let’s do it…”

Terry grinned down at her before letting his eyes drift down to the flash of pink he could see between her legs. Neon pink lace. Mmmm… He couldn’t wait to get that off of her beautiful body.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Her shriek as he threw her over his shoulder was loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. His ass was right in her face as he carried her into a bedroom and she couldn’t resist reaching out and smacking the firm cheek. Damn, he had an ass on him. He slapped her ass in retaliation before gently lowering her onto a soft bed. 

“This is where the on-camera magic happens,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Is it recording already?”

“It is now.”

The way he stood over her turned her on and she pressed her thighs together.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I just wanna play with you, baby. Make you come so hard you’re still thinking about it next week.”

Her breath hitched in her chest when she heard his words. And judging by the look on his handsome face, Terry knew he could deliver.

“Can I undress you, mama?”

“Please.”

“Stand up for me.”

Nyx pushed herself to her feet, a little nervous now that she was about to be naked in front of him. Terry’s massive hands were infinitely gentle as he began to unbutton her silk shirt, licking his lips as he pushed it open and saw the hot pink lace bra that matched her panties.

“Damn..”

He smoothed one hand down her chest, feeling the pounding of her heart beneath his palm.

“You nervous, baby?”

Nyx bit at her bottom lip again before nodding.

“Don’t be. I’m gonna make this so good for you.”

He hefted her large breasts in his hands, a grin on his face as he rubbed his thumbs back and forth across her lace covered nipples. 

“Fuck… these are so perfect.”

Terry dipped his head, covering her lips with his as he pulled her in close. With one hand, he deftly unhooked her bra and tugged the offending fabric away. Those hard little nipples brushed against the soft cotton of his shirt and he groaned softly against her full lips. He reached behind him with one hand, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. Nyx barely had time to admire his heavily muscled upper body before he was pulling her back against him, her bullet hard nipples brushing against the soft hair on his chest. He spun them around and sat heavily on the bed, his eyes drifting over what he’d uncovered so far. Her nipples were pierced and the sight turned him on even more.

“Damn.”

The way he licked those full lips was starting to drive her crazy. Hands on her hips, he pulled her in closer to him, spreading his legs to make room for her. Nyx placed her hands on his broad shoulders as he trailed kisses across her flat belly before making his way to one of her hard nipples. He looked her dead in the eye as he wrapped his lips around the hard little nub and moaned loudly. His free hand slid up her thigh, reaching under her skirt to grip her ass. Her breasts had always been incredibly sensitive and Terry’s mouth was driving her crazy. She could already feel her pussy soaking the gusset of her lace panties. Terry tugged at her nipple with his teeth, flicking the piercing before letting go with a little pop.

“Is she wet for me, baby?”

Nyx let out a little gasp when he brushed his fingertips across the crotch of her panties. 

“Oooooh…. She is dripping. Can I taste it? Been thinking about how you taste since you walked in.”

“As long as I get to taste you.”

Terry’s eyes lit up. 

“I’m your playground.”

“I sure hope so,” she murmured softly, rubbing her hands across his broad shoulders. He let her push him back on the bed, a sly smile on his face as she crawled on top of him. His hands settled on her hips like they belonged there and he pressed up against her, letting her feel how much she turned him on. And fuck did she feel it. Her hips ground against him of their own volition as she leaned down over him and flicked her tongue against his throat. His skin tasted clean and his woodsy smell invaded her nostrils as she began to explore him. If it was one thing Nyx loved, it was veins on a man. And Terry was vascular as hell. His forearms. His throat. And she just knew that dick was going to be big and veiny just the way she liked. There was just something about this man that made her want to do whatever it took to please him. And she just knew he’d return the favor. Ten times over.

“You’re so big, Terry…”

Hooded eyes met hers as she smoothed her hands down his abs. 

“You have no idea..”

Terry tangled his hands in her hair, groaning softly when she teasingly bit his nipple. A dark lock of hair trailed down his chest as she playfully nipped and bit her way across his ripped abs. Just when she reached the zipper on his jeans, he reared up, grabbing her wrists and reversing their positions on the bed.

“Rule #1… you come first. Always.”

He chuckled when he saw her raised eyebrows, her mouth in a little ‘oh’.

“You’ll learn.”

“You gonna teach me?”

“You’ll find that I am an excellent teacher…”

The way he looked at her in that moment… even if she didn’t want to keep doing this for the money, Nyx already knew she’d be in trouble the minute she let him inside her. Terry tapped her outer thigh and she lifted her hips, a blush covering her body when he tugged her skirt and panties off. Heat tingled on her skin the longer he stared at her naked body. And he was staring. Hard. Those eyes of his took in every inch of skin, from the top of her head, to her heavy breasts and those perfect little nipples, to the diamond stud in her belly… down to the sweet pussy he couldn’t wait to claim. And by the looks of it, she couldn’t wait for him either. Her wetness glistened in the low light and he could smell the sweet scent of her arousal. When his tongue flicked out across his lips, she moaned involuntarily.

“Can I taste you? Been dying to know if you’re as sweet as you smell.”

“Please, Terry…”

Nyx spread her legs, grinning when he groaned softly. Terry settled between her thighs like a sniper on a mission, taking a deep breath of the sweet peach he was about to devour. Little kisses on her inner thighs just served to turn her on even more. The little gasp she let out when he pressed a kiss to her pussy made his dick jump in response. Fuck… His tongue split her thick lips and she moaned his name when he sucked her throbbing little clit in his mouth, flicking his tongue around in a circle.

“Mmm… sweet like honey. Damn, girl.”

Nyx reached down with a shaky hand, gripping his broad shoulder as he began to devour her in earnest. The wet growling sounds he made as he ate her out like his favorite delicacy. Nyx couldn’t control the way her hips rocked against his face nor could she stop the guttural sounds that poured from her. She’d never had someone take her up so fast and she felt like she was on the precipice of something huge already. The tip of his finger gently circled her entrance and her hips rocketed up of their own volition. Terry slung an arm across her hips, holding her in place so she couldn’t get away from him. The thick finger circling her entrance slowly began to plunge inside and Terry groaned against her slick flesh when he felt how tight she was. She hadn't been lying about it having been a while for her. When he pressed up, the sounds she started to make were music to his ears. He gently added his ring finger and began a fluttering motion against her g-spot. 

“F-fu-fuuuuck. Terry please.”

Her free hand came down, cradling the back of his head. This man was eating her pussy like he was starving and her pussy held the cure to world hunger. She rocked her hips against his face, searching for the orgasm that loomed up in front of her. Terry glanced up at her and the sight of her slightly sweat slick skin and the tits he couldn’t get enough of made him groan, pressing his hips against the bed to give himself the tiniest bit of relief. He was leaking like a faucet and couldn’t wait to get inside of her. When she began to pull away from him, he doubled his efforts. When he swirled his tongue around her clit again, she screamed his name, pussy just gushing against his face. The arm braced across her hips kept her in place, not letting her run from the intense pleasure that bordered on pain. He kept going until she settled, moaning weakly. Her splayed legs fell open, all her muscles gone slack with the intense pleasure. Terry wiped his beard with one hand, grinning as he licked at his palm to get more of her sweetness. He dragged his big body over her twitching one, dropping little kisses here and there. Her hands came up to his shoulders when he suckled her nipple into his mouth. She shivered when she felt the cold of his gold chain dragging against her overheated skin.

“You ok, baby?”

“Mmhmm… as soon as I can move my legs, it’s my turn.”

Terry chuckled softly, before popping his lips off her nipple.

“You have the most prefect tits I have ever seen. I just wanna bury my face in them.”

Nyx giggled, her hands coming up to cradle the back of his head. Her laugh turned into a moan when he switched breasts and suckled her other nipple into her mouth. 

“Feel free to.”

There was a sharp sting on the side of her breast where he’d nipped her and she knew there’d be a mark there later. Knew it and secretly loved it. When his hips pressed against her again, she reached down between them, desperate to get her hands and mouth on him. 

“I wanna see you, baby.”

Terry pushed himself up off of her and came to stand beside the bed, his hands undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. Nyx licked her lips as she she sat up, her hands immediately going to the waistband of his briefs. She wanted to see if he was as big as she felt. He looked damn near ready to bust through the thin fabric. As she tugged them down, revealing his happy trail, her eyes widened as the wide base of his dick came into view. 

“Oh…”

Her eyes flicked up to his face and he was watching her with a look she couldn’t quite describe. Passion. Desire. Most above all else, hunger. When she finally got him naked, she was confronted with one of the prettiest dicks she’d ever seen. Thick, caramel colored and heavy. With a curve. Fuck. That curve was probably going to be the death of her. He was longer and thicker than she’d thought and the head of his erection was engorged and leaking already for her. His balls were fat and heavy and suddenly, she couldn’t wait to feel him fill her up. Tonight would be the first time she’d ever let a man come inside of her and it felt like she’d picked well for her first. Terry reached down with one hand, stroking just under the head, squeezing out another droplet she couldn’t wait to taste.

“You ready for your taste, baby?”

Nyx smiled up at him before teasingly opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out. Terry groaned softly, tracing her full lips with the head of his dick, painting those lips with his precum. The way she moaned and licked her lips clean of him made his dick jerk in response. The jolt of pleasure that shot through him when she sucked the head of his dick in her mouth almost brought him to his knees. That wicked tongue swirled around the fat tip, lapping up his seed before taking him deeper, stuffing her mouth full of him. Terry gently cradled the back of her head, his eyes low as he watched her suck him off. Nyx kept her eyes on his as she swallowed around this thick head, saliva coating him as she pulled back with a soft gasp. Damn… she wrapped both hands around him, licking her lips before diving back in. Her tongue traced the large vein that travelled down the underside of his length before teasingly flicking her tongue against his glans.

“That's it baby…. Suck that dick. Fuuuuuck.”

Nyx moaned around him as she rocked back and forth, taking him a little deeper every time. She didn't think she’d be able to get all of him down her throat, but she was damn sure going to try. The sounds he began to make as she bobbed her head on him made the wetness pool between her thighs. He was leaking like a faucet and she eagerly slurped up his slightly salty essence. His thighs tensed under her soft hands and she moaned around him. The hand cradling the back of her head tightened and he groaned before pulling away.

“Damn, girl. That mouth is dangerous.”

Nyx licked her lips before smiling up at him. He reached down, pulling her to her feet and urging her back towards the bed. Terry nudged her legs apart, dropping little kisses as he crawled over her. He couldn’t resist the lure of those big tits and he teasingly flicked his tongue across her hard little nub. 

“Terry, I need you,” she whispered, smoothing her hands across his broad shoulders.

“How bad do you want it?”

“You want me to beg, baby?”

Jade eyes searched her face, a little smile on his face as he licked his lips.

“And if I do?”

“I’ll beg for that dick if you want me to, Daddy. You want me on my knees?”

She leaned up, trailing wet kisses along the cord of muscle on the side of his neck. Nyx made her way up to his ear, nibbling on the fleshy lobe.

“You’ll get there before the night is over.”

He rocked his hips against her wet cleft, glancing down between them and grunting when he saw the way her sweet liquid coated his wide shaft. Terry reached down, pressing the head against her tight entrance and starting to push in slowly. They both watched as he retreated a little, his dick shiny where it had been inside of her, before pushing in deeper. Pleasure tinged with hint of pain shot through her body as he began to forge his way inside of her. Between it having been a while for her and Terry being as blessed as he was by the dick fairy, Nyx was close to her limit already. And as if he could sense it, he reached between them, rubbing his thumb in small circles over her clit. A fresh surge of liquid gushed from her, easing his way.

“You’re taking me so well, baby. You gonna take it all?”

Nyx nodded as she looked up at him, panting softly.

“Use your words, baby. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it all,” she said with a little gasp.

Terry grinned down at her before glancing between them. Just a few more inches to go. He reached down, spreading her thighs wide by hooking them over his forearms. So fucking wet… He growled softly when she clenched around him, her hand shooting out to brace itself on his lower belly.

“C’mon, baby doll. You can take me." “You’re so deep,” she said, a soft quiver in her voice.

“Move that hand, Nyx,” he rumbled.

Her eyes met his and she dropped her hand, trying to relax her body so she could take all of him. But fuck… the nigga was big. He was so thick, her clit dragged along the top of his dick when he thrust into her at this angle. Her gasp in the room was loud when the head of his dick bumped something deep inside her.

“Oooh… that’s it.”

Terry reached over and grabbed a pillow, tucking it under her hips, tilting her pussy up to better receive him. Nyx braced herself against the bed, rocking her hips against Terry’s deep thrusts. He was jabbing against her g-spot now with every deep thrust and the way the pressure was building already was driving her crazy. In this moment, nothing else mattered except the orgasm that loomed just out of reach. Terry made his way back down to her breasts, suckling the heavy flesh into his wicked mouth. Her hands clawed at his back as he really began to go to town on her. His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer. The heavy weight of him on top of her made Nyx feel ultra feminine, the domination complete when he reached up and wrapped his hand around her throat. The pressure at the sides of her throat increased and she smiled up at him as she begin to get lightheaded. The pressure built and built. The wet squelching sounds of her pussy filled the room and in any other situation the sounds would have embarrassed her. But not here. Not the way this man was looking at her. He looked like he fucking LOVED the sounds he was forcing from her. And the filthy things he was saying in her ear? Gaaaaawd.

“Ooooh shit, baby. I’m coming.. oh fuck!!”

“That's it, mama. Come on this dick.”

Terry maintained his pace, grunting when he felt her pussy clenching around him uncontrollably. He slid his arms under hers, hands coming up to grip her shoulders to hold her in place. Her eyes were a glazed over, only focused on his gold chain swinging back and forth as he took her. Her hard little nipples rubbed against the soft hair on his chest when she arched her back, those perfect tits of hers wobbling on her chest. His eyes darted between her beautiful face and those tits as he rocked deep. Nyx cried out his name as the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt jolted through her body, starting at her toes and traveling up her body like a bolt of lightening. Terry groaned loudly when he felt a gush of liquid against his lower belly and her tight little pussy pushed him out. 

Without giving her a moment to recover, he pushed her legs up and latched his lips around her hard little clit. Nyx shrieked, trying desperately to twist away from him. She flipped on her side and tried to crawl away from the intensity of how he was making her feel but Terry had a hold on her. He didn’t let her run and growled against her slick flesh as she gushed again. Terry opened his mouth wide, licking her from her entrance to her clit. He smacked the side of her ass before flipping her onto her belly and pulling her to the edge of the bed. Dick drunk and dazed, she looked at him over his shoulder as he lined himself up. Even knowing she’d already taken him, he still looked intimidating as fuck.

“That's my lil’ baby… You ready for some more?"

His big hands gripped her hips and he let her feel the pressure of his hefty cock against her pussy.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Words baby.”

"Give me more.”

Nyx wailed as he pulled her back against him, giving her every single inch in a slow deep thrust. He stayed deep, letting her feel all of him as he teasingly rocked his hips from side to side. 

“Your pussy looks so goddamn pretty taking me. Fuck.”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

SMACK!

The loud clapping of her ass against his thighs filled the room and Nyx arched her back, reaching out with one hand to grip the sheets. Terry leaned over her, dragging his tongue along her spine as he fucked the shit out of her. He was rougher now, knowing that she could take it. With every thrust, his heavy balls smacked her clit. Terry licked his thumb before gently pressing it against her tiny rosette, gaining when she moaned his name. He rubbed in small circles, loving how tight she was around the tip his his finger. His other hand gripped her hip, pulling her back against him. Terry was giving her all of him with every pass and he loved the way her tight little pussy felt around his fat dick.

“Can I cum inside you, baby?”

“Yes!! Please. I want feel it…”

Terry leaned over her body, bracing himself with one hand while his other gripped her swinging breast. He could feel his balls tightening and couldn’t wait to fill her up. 

“Fuck this shit is so good… your pussy is so fucking good, baby.”

Her pussy clenched around him and he groaned loudly.

“Say it, baby… Say you want me to fill that tight little pussy up.”

“I want it, Terry.. Come for me.”

Nyx looked at him over her shoulder and the look on his beautiful face was one she would remember for the rest of her life.

“No one has ever come inside me, baby… I want it to be you. I want you to come inside your pussy.”

“Oohhh… fuck. Is it mine?”

“Yes, baby… Yeeeeeeeeeeeees….”

Her head fell forward as his thrusts got harder. 

“Fuck, I’m about to bust.”

“I wanna feel it.” Her words were slightly slurred and Terry loved that he’d driven her to this point. This beautiful women reduced down to a dick drunk slut, begging for him to ruin her perfect little pussy. Her eyes squeezed shut as her orgasm slammed through her like a fucking freight train and she fought to stay in the moment. His loud roar filled the room as her orgasm snatched his own up out of him. His hips stuttered against her ass and he yanked her tight against him, moaning in her ear as his dick jumped, pumping deep. The heat spread deep in her belly, branding her like nothing she’d ever felt. It felt like…a firehose in her pussy, seeping deep in every crevice. Her throbbing pussy strangled his dick, milking him of every drop. Terry groaned as he he rocked his hips against her ass, feeling the pulses travel from the base of his dick to the engorged head.

“Damn, baby…"

Gentle kisses to the back of her neck brought Nyx back into her body. She smiled as Terry tenderly nuzzled the side of her throat before dropping a sweet kiss to her temple. Even going soft, he was still deep inside her and she found that she liked him there. Terry leaned back, one hand on her hip and the other lifting her ass cheek. As he slowly pulled out, his eyes were locked on her pussy. His wet dick slapped his thigh and there was a wicked smile on his face as he watched his seed begin to leak out.

“Your pussy looks so pretty when it’s full of me.”

Nyx blushed, grateful he couldn’t see her face at the moment. 

“I’ll be right back, baby.”

She felt his weight shift off of the bed and crawled out of the wet spot. She gingerly lowered herself onto her belly, burying her face in her arms. Her body was still humming from all the intense pleasure he’d given her. 

“C’mere.”

Terry gently helped her turn onto her back and began to wipe her down with a warm damp cloth. He shushed her protests as he spread her legs, carefully wiping her reddened pussy down.

“Girl, I just had my mouth all over this pussy. Don’t get shy with me now.”

“It’s…”

“It’s what? I made a mess of you. I’ll clean you up.”

“No one’s ever done that before.”

“Looks like we’re having lots of firsts together,” he murmured softly, his green eyes meeting hers.

That blush of hers was incredibly sexy to him and despite the things he’d just done to her, he loved that she still blushed. After cleaning her up, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal style. On his way out of the room, he flipped the lights off. Nyx wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her down a darkened hall, wondering where he was taking her.

"You wanna stay the night?” 

“You let all the girls stay?”

He shook his head as he nudged the door open with his foot.

“Just you.”

Nyx glanced around his bedroom, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth.

“I’ll stay.”

Tag list: @rose-bliss | @hooliemooliedonutshawp | @alldthoughtsinmyhead | @thatonecarebear| @wolfiediaries | @alucardvaniax| @coyfundamentals | @444arianempress| @rosew1438| @lambbmal | @happilycoralbird | @astr0babez | @peachteasweet | @notapradagurl7 | @naughtynolly| @baddiefromtheastside| @plan3tch1ld| @marshmellowtotts | @cybercollectivechaos| @kinginwithbreezy-blog| @sexyblacksimper| @captain18c | @theonlypumpum| @wonderlustwrites| @passionfrvttt| @avoidthings| @catxo | @vinicinha| @enticingmelanin | @bouka24 | @susanhill | @mysticaleye5 | @blowmymbackout | @classygal88 | @nofiltermuse | @noirelyfe | @dimepiece09 | @babymelaninn | @annoyinglydarkblaze | @lenasunel | @laywritesalilbit | @wheresthecaptaincrunch | @cocomelonsfriend | @stormbrite1989 | @itsbeenaaron | @ambs-06 | @nahimjustfeelingit-writes | @sweet2krazee | @missharrythedreamer | @kelvinaaronlover | @big-button | @jasmynnn05 | @fullsoulalmondegg| @theblessedcap | @koosluvrgirl | @theogbadbitch | @transparentphantom10 | @lovemekaycee| @fakxmbj | @briannuh98 | @bubblysmilez2 | @nubiagurlll | @zillasvilla | @icestudy | @ticalsstallion | @visiblyloudsliver | @lvrgrl2 | @barbiezolanski | @motheroffae | @flaps200 | @pocketsizedpanther

[writingsbytee]

[writingsbytee]

a man who's intimate.

a man who adjusts to your every need. who kisses you every morning. who never lets you go to sleep angry with him. a man who knows every inch of you, every scar, mole, bump.

a man who never raises his voice at you. who lets his body language talk when he's angry. whose skin bubbles with heat as he crosses his arms and tilts his head, listening to your rant before nodding. "you're right, sugar. im sorry."

a man who practically begs you to let him make it better, kissing from your toetips all the way up to where your night shorts stop, barely covering any of your brown skin. who takes them down with his teeth because even though he's sorry, he's still got his pride.

a man who doesn't let up on your pleasure. who stays nursing on your clit like he's a baby. who makes you cum three times before even thinking about fucking you, your thighs sticky with sweat as he settles between them.

a man who fucks you in heavy, slooooww strokes that drag every vein through your walls. whose groans are low and sensual, driving fire to your clit and ovaries as he sweats, his body hot against yours. he notices how your stomach twitches softly as he lays his hand over it, how your walls suddenly close tight enough for him to halt his movements.

"like it when i lay my hand here, honey? when i feel my cock inside you? you like that?" his voice is taunting. he knows you like it. he knows because your moans suddenly pick up in volume, and your feet next to either of his ears nearly fall from his shoulders. he doesn't let you run from him, though. he wraps one of his arms around your knees, keeping your feet hopelessly in the air as he thrusts into you with debaucherous vigor.

a man who overstimulates every nerve in your body at once, sending you floating off as you come. who holds you through it, watching as your eyes roll like you're possessed. he can't get enough of it, not until you're practically choking, stumbling over how good it feels, how you can't take it anymore. the screams of his name into the heavy air of your bedroom just egging him on to make you cum again. to push your limit. to watch your soul wander from your body for a moment.

a man whose job and life purpose is to please you, a man who's intimate.

[writingsbytee]

"All Your Fault"

Summary: Interrupting his business call with your shenanigans has its consequences.

Warnings: Smut.

Daddy was on a business video call when I opened the door to his home office. He had put on a shirt, tie, and jacket to look every bit the boss he was — but below, he wore loose cotton boxers. The sight made me giggle softly. As I watched him play with his billions, a naughty thought crossed my mind: Just how much of a multitasker is my beautiful Aaron? I sashayed into his office, tossing him a nonchalant look when he arched a shapely brow, eyeing me with suspicion.I rounded his desk, dropping to all fours, the cool hardwood beneath me a sharp contrast to the warmth of my skin. Carefully, I avoided the webcam, placing a hand on his knee and nudging him gently — signaling that I wanted space beneath his desk. With a dramatic sigh, he dragged a hand over his face in feigned exasperation, but I could feel the corners of his lips twitching. He rolled his chair back just enough for me to slip underneath, his eyes locking onto mine with a silent challenge. Once I was in place, he rolled back into position, the hum of the laptop now the only sound between us.

Kneeling carefully between his legs, I pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his left thigh, my lips brushing over the sensitive skin. A smug smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I watched goosebumps ripple across his skin.

Settling onto my haunches, I let my hands glide upward along the insides of his thighs, slipping beneath the loose fabric of his shorts. My fingers curled gently as I gave a firm squeeze, eliciting a subtle hitch in his voice as his body betrayed him.

The faint twitch of his arousal sent a wave of satisfaction coursing through me. With deliberate slowness, I withdrew my hands, teasingly avoiding the one place I knew he wanted my touch most.

He slumped back in his chair, his hips shifting closer to me in silent invitation. I muffled a giggle, the corners of my lips curling mischievously. Leaning in, I pressed a lingering kiss to the tip of his growing hardness, savoring the way he cleared his throat, his composure wavering ever so slightly.

A giddy sense of control surged through me, the power I held over him intoxicating. How long would it take before he surrendered completely?

My hands found their way up his thighs again, deliberate and unhurried. Wrapping my fingers around the base of his warmth, I let my teeth graze his glans lightly, eliciting the smallest twitch of reaction. The smooth, silken heat of him felt perfect against my palms. I gave a firm, deliberate squeeze, my glazed eyes fixed firmly on his face.

A slight jerk of his hips told me he felt that... so I did it again. This time, I dragged my tongue over the cotton-covered head of his hardness, savoring the subtle shift in his breath.

My body buzzed with a flood of sensations, each one amplifying the heat pooling between my thighs. Moisture gathered in waves, the anticipation almost unbearable as I reveled in his barely contained reactions.

I was starting to get sticky, the damp heat between my thighs becoming impossible to ignore.

I had just begun to move my hands up and down his length when one of his large hands covered mine. I paused and looked up at him, unsure if he wanted me to stop. The answer came quickly—he tightened his grip over mine, guiding my movements as he used my hands to stroke himself.

A muffled moan escaped my lips despite my efforts to stay silent. I loved it when he took control like this. After three deliberate, powerful strokes, he released my hands and freed himself from the confines of his boxer shorts.

Gripping his hardness at the base, he tapped it gently against my face. I parted my lips, letting my tongue reach out to meet him.

The instant my wet tongue made contact, he thrust forward, filling my mouth in one smooth motion. His fingers tangled in my hair as he took control of my movements, a harsh exhale escaping him as he set the rhythm.

I heard one of his executives ask if he was alright, and I couldn’t help but giggle.

My stoic baby is crumbling.

His hand left my head momentarily, only to pinch my cheeks in silent reprimand, cutting my giggle short.

I tilted my head up to look at him from beneath the desk. His eyes met mine as he lowered his head and silently mouthed, “Shhh.”

In response, I gave him my most innocent puppy-dog eyes before taking him fully in my mouth and sucking him with earnest intent.

I watched his face tighten as he fought to keep his composure, scrambling to turn off his webcam in the middle of the call.

If his length wasn’t currently lodged deep in my throat, I might have laughed outright at his sudden panic.

His head fell back against the chair as his fingers tangled deeper into my hair. He’d stopped actively participating in the conversation, his silence only encouraging me to work him harder than I ever had before.

I had a point to prove.

I had just started lavishing attention on the sensitive underside of his length when he abruptly ended the call. His chair screeched back, and he pulled out of my mouth with a loud, wet pop.

I wiped the saliva from my mouth and chin, my heart racing a mile a minute. His expression was unreadable for a beat, then it twisted into something dark and furious. My heart sank—or maybe it was my coochie, because it mimicked the frantic rhythm of my pulse.

I recognized that look.

“What kind of game is this?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You think this is funny?”

My throat was too dry to answer. I could only stare, a mix of excitement and apprehension freezing me in place.

With lightning speed, he cleared the desk of everything in his way. The angry serpent at his groin led the charge, promising I’d regret ever testing him.

Grabbing me firmly by my underarms, he lifted me effortlessly, flopping me stomach-first onto his desk.

Even though I anticipated the move, I still yelped when his palm came down hard on my backside.

Before I could fully process the sting, he spread my legs wide against the cool surface of the desk. His hand came down again, this time landing directly on my engorged lips and sensitive clit.

A guttural groan tore from my throat, wild and unrestrained. The vibrations rippled through me, tingling all the way to my curled toes. My body responded instinctively, clenching hard as another wave of moisture soaked through my already damp boy shorts.

I felt the heat of his presence withdraw momentarily and heard the unmistakable rustle of fabric. My breath hitched—I knew he was getting undressed.

“Baby...” I hissed.

“I don’t want to hear you right now!” His curt voice cut through the haze, making me whimper softly and bite down on my lip.

My body burned with need, trembling with anticipation. I needed him to hurry, to finish what he’d started.

I barely restrained myself from risking another word, even though every nerve in my body screamed for his attention.

And then—he left the office.

I had just started to writhe in frustration when he returned.

“I see you kept your legs spread for me,” he purred, his voice a velvety caress that sent shivers down my spine.

Before I could respond, his middle finger pressed against the wet crotch of my shorts, pushing the soaked fabric into my love tunnel. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval.

He worked the material deeper into me, twisting his finger as I clenched and unclenched around his thick digit. The soft fabric pulled taut against my aching clit, amplifying every sensation.

He paused, holding me on the edge of blissful agony, then slowly withdrew his finger. The cloth followed, sliding out of me millimeter by tantalizing millimeter, dragging along every nerve ending with deliberate precision.

It was exquisite torture. Every inch felt like an eternity, leaving me trembling on the precipice of release.

I thought I might die from the intensity of it.

I wanted him to hurry, to finish me off, but at the same time, I craved every second of this agonizingly slow dance.

What felt like minutes—but was probably only seconds—passed before I felt the faintest tension against my shorts, followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

His hands gripped my hips firmly, lifting me just enough for his tongue to take a long, leisurely swipe up my soaked center.

A shiver ran through me as my hands shot out to clutch the edge of the desk, bracing myself for the inevitable. I was ready to be devoured.

But the heat of his tongue vanished, replaced by the cool, unfamiliar sensation of metal slipping inside me.

I gasped, a mix of surprise and disbelief flooding my senses. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t.

The first vibrations shattered that illusion. They coursed through me, and my body reacted instinctively, clawing at the desk in an attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations.

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

He pressed a button, silencing the device, and I whimpered at the sudden absence.

“What’s wrong?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “I thought you wanted to play. Let’s play.”

He moved around the desk to stand in front of me, prying my hands off the edge before flipping me over effortlessly. With a firm tug, he pulled me until my head dangled off the table, perfectly aligned with his proud majesty.

He tapped it lightly against my forehead, smirking as my lips parted instinctively. My mouth opened, eager to take him, but instead, I wrapped it around his balls, sucking gently as my tongue teased them.

“Fuck… my girl,” he groaned, the deep timbre of his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through my body as I juggled his weight in my mouth.

After a few indulgent moments, he withdrew, only to replace them with his length. He slid in steadily, pausing only when he was fully lodged in my throat.

Before I could adjust to the sensation, the vibrator roared back to life inside me.

I groaned helplessly around him, the vibrations coursing through my throat and sending a new ripple of pleasure through him.

“Yeah… like that,” he moaned, his voice breathless with satisfaction. “I love it when you sing on me.”

He repeated the motion, thrusting into my throat while the relentless buzz within me kept my body on the edge. Each wave of pleasure brought another tremor, another mini orgasm.

Finally, he pulled out completely, leaving me gasping for air. My face was soaked with spit, sweat, and tears, my body trembling uncontrollably. I’d lost count of how many peaks I’d hit, each one leaving me more wrecked than the last.

With a deliberate slowness that sent shivers through me, he reached between my legs and removed the vibrator, leaving me momentarily empty and trembling from its absence.

Gripping my hips firmly, he pulled me further down the table, tilting my body so my head was no longer hanging over the edge. His eyes roamed over me, dark with desire, as if savoring the sight of me completely at his mercy.

When he came back around and positioned himself at my entrance, I felt the slow, deliberate pressure of him nudging inside. Inch by inch, he slid his enormous length into me until he was fully lodged, the tip pressing firmly against my cervix.

Leaning over me, he captured my mouth in a heated kiss, his lips and tongue insistent as he began to move. His thrusts started slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through my trembling body.

He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, mirroring the rhythm of his strokes. I clung to his veiny forearms, my fingers digging in as I tried to ground myself against the overwhelming sensation.

His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His breath came in short, ragged gasps against my face, and I felt the tension building in every muscle of his body.

Breaking the kiss, he shifted his focus. His hands slid down to grip my thighs, spreading them wider before pushing them forward, folding me nearly in half as he drove even deeper.

His weight came down on me, his thickness buried to the hilt inside me. His groin pressed flush against mine as he held me completely open, vulnerable to his every move.

He rested his forehead against mine, his body jerking with each deep thrust that kissed the very depths of my womb. His shut eyes and labored breathing told me he was fighting for control.

The last time he lost that battle, I was walking funny for nearly a week.

I wanted him to lose it again.

Watching his face carefully, I gathered every ounce of strength from my Kegel lessons and clenched tightly around him.

His eyes flew open, locking onto mine, and for a moment, something flickered there—sympathy.

A small, almost apologetic smile curved his lips as he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you. But this... this is all your fault.”

His hands closed around my throat, firm but measured, as the sound of rhythmic claps filled the room.

A light flickered in the back of my mind, dimming with every ragged breath I took. His guttural, animalistic grunts as he powered into me were the last thing I heard before darkness claimed me.

Several earth-shattering orgasms later, I was limp, my body humming with aftershocks. His weight pressed against me, his breaths hot and ragged against my skin, grounding me in the aftermath of the storm he’d unleashed.

As I blinked through the haze, he carefully withdrew, his hands sliding under me to lift me effortlessly. I let out a soft sigh as he cradled me against his chest, the contrast between his earlier ferocity and his current tenderness making my heart ache in ways I couldn’t describe.

He carried me into the bathroom, his steps deliberate and sure. Gently, he set me down, the cool tile beneath me a welcome reprieve from the heat that still lingered in my limbs. With meticulous care, he began to clean me up, his touch light and reverent.

I gazed up at him, my eyelids heavy, already feeling sleep pulling me under. I knew I’d be out long enough for him to return to his business call and finish what I’d interrupted.

But right now, I didn’t care. Right now, I was completely his, body and soul, and that was all that mattered.

I'm making this open so you can attach anyone to it. My muse was Aaron Pierre, though, lol.

[writingsbytee]

Ex-Convict Terry.

Summary: Terry returns to you after being in prison for two years. A one-shot. (Found this buried in my drafts, decided to edit and post it. Especially because of Aaron's durag picture lol.)

Warning: Smut.

Terry stood in the distance, but you felt him before you saw him—like a slow burn crawling across your skin.

You stood beside his convertible, the only thing left from the scam that landed him in prison. Still flawless. Just like he left it. Seeing it intact confirmed what he always knew: you held it down for him.

Two years. That’s how long it had been since the last time you saw him. Two years of silent nights and empty laughter, pretending your world hadn’t lost its weight when the cell door shut behind him.

You missed his dry humor, the way he held you like it was two of you against the world. He’d left his cards in your name, not just to hide the money, but to make sure you’d be okay.

And now he was here.

The heat on your skin told you he was close, but you didn’t look up. Tears streamed down your cheeks, and you didn’t want him to see.

Then came the voice.

“Y/N… come here, baby.”

That did it.

You threw yourself into his arms and sobbed into his chest. All the strength you had faked for years, gone. You clung to him like a lifeline, cried until your shoulders shook, until you could finally breathe again.

“It’s alright,” he whispered into your hair. “It’s over. I’m here now. Let me take care of you."

He finally put you down, smiling as you sniffled and wiped your tears. "Let’s go home.”

The ride home was quiet. You were exhausted from crying so hard, so he drove.

You felt a twinge of guilt letting him get behind the wheel fresh out of lockup, but he told you not to worry. When you keyed a different address into the GPS, he glanced at you.

“What’s this?”

You just winked. “Surprise.”

When he pulled into the garage of the five-bedroom duplex, the look on his face made you laugh out loud.

“Welcome home, babe,” you said, giving him a loud smooch.

You led him through the house, explaining how you’d flipped houses using a portion of the money he'd left you. The grit it took. How this one had been a bargain. How you made it into the dream you'd both shared.

He followed in silence, eyes wide with pride and astonishment. Then you opened the last door. It was brightly painted, radiating warmth and comfort.

“Can you guess what this room is for?”

He looked around, nodded slowly.

Your chest tightened. You'd imagined this moment so many times. He didn’t react the way you’d dreamed. But maybe that was okay. He was tired. You were both just trying to come back to each other.

“I think I’m ready to try your fancy shower,” he said with a half-smile.

You lit up and led the way.

Steam filled the room. Terry stood under the hot spray, letting it work through two years of tension.

Then the door creaked open.

You stepped inside, gloriously naked, catching the way his breath hitched.

“Need help with your back?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You lathered your hands, sliding them down his shoulders, over those back muscles. Damn. He must’ve spent every day in there lifting. You ran your palms down to his ass, giving it a firm squeeze, a playful slap. The wet crack of it made you giggle.

He chuckled...then choked a little when your hands slid around and took hold of his thickening shaft.

You stroked him slowly, reverently. You weren’t in any hurry. It had been too long since you held him like this. You told yourself you’d just take the edge off, let him sleep. Just a little taste.

His cock hardened in your grip as you worked him — squeezing, twisting, dragging your fingers over the ridge of his glans. He gasped every time your thumb flicked the tip.

Terry groaned deep in his chest. No one had touched him in prison. Plenty of men had tried. But his body belonged to you — always had.

He placed his hand over yours, tightening your grip. Together you pumped him faster, harder, until he shuddered and spilled over both your hands.

You kissed his back, pulled away, and rinsed off quickly.

“I’m setting the table,” you said, stepping out. “Put something on and come eat. I need you back at 100%.”

Dinner was spent catching up and swapping stories until late into the night, when your eyes began to droop. He scooped you into his arms and carried you to bed.

It must have been around 4 a.m. when you felt gentle hands on your body. Blinking awake, you found Terry looking down at you, a twinkle in his eye. Your gaze dropped, and your core clenched. He was naked.

Smiling mischievously, he started unbuttoning your pajamas. He kissed your skin with every button he undid, pausing to stare at your bare breasts once they were revealed. A giggle bubbled up from your throat as it hit you—this was the first time he was seeing them in two years.

He didn’t hesitate for long. His mouth was on you in an instant, groping one breast while sucking the other, leaving little bite marks as he switched between them with greedy urgency.

Your head thrashed on the pillow. Your breasts were extra sensitive, and he wasn’t holding back. Just as you reached to push his mouth away from your aching nipple, he rose to hook his thumbs into your pajama bottoms. With one swift motion, he yanked them off, nearly lifting you off the bed in the process.

He was getting feral—and your pussy wouldn’t stop gushing in response to his intensity.

Flipping you onto your stomach, he pulled your hips up until your ass was in his face.

Terry groaned at the sight. Your round ass was perfectly presented, your glistening juices dripping on the sheets. His dick was painfully hard.

He fisted it slowly as he leaned forward for a taste, spreading your thighs with one hand and dragging his tongue from the front of your slit to the back.

“Mmm… delicious,” he murmured, stroking himself. “You’re still the sweetest thing on earth, baby.”

He made soft, filthy noises into your pussy in response to your whimpers. Precum formed at the tip of his cock, and he rubbed it lazily over the swollen head with his thumb, never taking his eyes off your soaked folds.

Then he let go of himself.

Grabbing both your thighs, he buried his face in your pussy and began to devour you with hunger. His mouth moved over you like a lover’s kiss, sucking and tonguing every inch of your labia. His tongue licked deep into your slit, pausing to suck and nibble your clit. His fingers joined the feast, spreading you open so his tongue could reach inside, lapping hungrily at your core as slick dripped from your folds onto his chin.

Muffled cries escaped into the fluffy pillow beneath you. You were already so close. Your orgasm began to build fast and wild, and you reached back blindly for his head, holding him against you as you rocked your pussy into his face.

He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked through it, letting you ride your high against his mouth, your juices smeared across his nose and cheeks.

When you finally let him go, he grabbed your discarded pajama top and wiped his face.

“Well, damn,” he said, catching his breath. “I’m glad I’m not the only one starving.”

He pulled your legs out from under you until you lay flat on your stomach again, then moved over your body, straddling you.

You felt the nudge of his cock at your entrance and moaned—deep and needy. He was pushing in.

You hadn’t let another man near you in two years. Toys had helped, but nothing could prepare you for Terry’s thick cock stretching you open again. No one had ever ruined you the way he had.

Terry groaned as your wet heat took him in, inch by inch.

He was home.

He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust while savoring the way your walls gripped him. His thrusts were deep, measured, loving.

“Ohhhh, Terryyy… fuck, I missed you. I missed you, Papa…”

Your voice trembled—part moan, part sob. His weight on your back pinned you into the mattress, and somehow you felt both helpless and safe in his arms.

When his arm curled around your head and shoulders, you knew what time it was.

His hips began to slam down harder, faster. The wet slap of skin echoed in the room, drowning out everything but his grunts and the filthy words he growled in your ear.

You whimpered, grinding back into him, trying to match his punishing rhythm.

You felt his cock twitch inside you. He lowered his lips to your ear, his voice a low rasp.

“You ready to use that room you showed me?”

Your heart swelled. He wanted this. He just wasn’t the kind of man to show it outright.

His hand on your head kept you still, so you choked out a small, “Yes.”

“I’m gonna wear out this pussy,” he growled. “We’re not stopping until your stomach’s swelling with my child.”

Your pussy clenched around him—tight, hot, desperate.

That was all the answer he needed.

He held you tight as he poured his seed inside you.

To new beginnings.

[writingsbytee]

Dawn

Summary: Your pregnancy craving is your husband, Terry. A one-shot.

(I'm probably going to compile all these Terry and pregnant reader stories into a book called The Pregnancy Chronicles or some corny shii like that lol.)

Warning: smut.

It’s almost dawn. Your body stirs as the room grows colder. It had been hot all night, and you’d had no choice but to sleep naked. Now, your heavy, engorged breasts and round, full belly lie exposed as you rest on your side.

Pregnancy came with its share of discomforts; being unable to tolerate heat was one of them. Pushing your husband away when he tried to touch you because your skin was burning up was another.

As you drift closer to wakefulness, you listen to his even breathing. Your heart softens at the sound — this beautiful, understanding man you married.

Since the pregnancy began, you’ve watched him grow increasingly attached to you. Your pregnant body drives him wild. You see it in the subtle ways he brushes his hardness against your backside at the oddest moments, in how his gaze lingers on your swollen breasts mid-conversation, and in the way he grabs your thighs and nuzzles your neck when you’re curled up on the couch together.

You’re a constant distraction to him — and it’s just as well, because you crave him just as much. By your third trimester, you found it hard to be away from him for too long. You needed to see him, touch him, hear his voice, or else the panic would creep in. By your fifth month, he’d moved his work into the home office just to be near you. That was when things truly spiraled.

You’d abandon laundry halfway just to barge into his office and ride him. He’d leave his desk just to feed you his juice straight from the source. Some afternoons, you’d sit in his lap and watch him type while he fingered you — slow, deep — until you were trembling and whimpering, then he'd bend you over his chair and finish the job with his dick.

There were days you'd sit on his desk. Legs wide open, playing with your coochie while he watched and stroked himself to the rhythm of your fingers. You were insatiable, and he matched your freak.

He’d wanted to make love to you last night, but you’d turned him down. He understood, gave you space, and let you rest. But now, with the chill creeping in, all you can think about is his warmth...from the inside out.

You shift your hips, pushing your backside against him until you feel the solid heat of his body pressing back.

He stirs, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his arm tightens around your waist. His morning wood nudges against your ass, thick and eager, already straining through his boxers. You know he’s barely awake, but his body always knows what to do with yours.

“Mm,” he murmurs, voice still raspy with sleep. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m cold,” you whisper, pressing your ass harder against him.

He grunts softly, sliding his hand over the curve of your belly, then lower, tracing the line of your hip. His fingers splay there, anchoring you to him. You feel his cock twitch against your skin, growing harder by the second.

“I missed you last night,” he says, mouth grazing your shoulder. “Let me warm you up.”

You don’t answer — you just guide his hand down between your thighs. He groans again when he feels how warm and slick you already are.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers dipping into your wetness. “You’ve been waiting for me.”

He strokes you slowly, lazily, like he’s savoring it. One long finger glides through your folds, circling your clit before slipping inside. You exhale shakily, your hips rolling against his hand.

“More,” you whisper.

He doesn’t make you ask twice. Another finger slides in beside the first, stretching you gently. His fingers curl inside you just right, finding that sweet spot with practiced ease. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, unhurried but firm.

Your breath hitches. Your thighs tremble.

“That’s it,” he murmurs into your hair. “Take it, baby. Let me feel you melt for me.”

You grind back against him, needy now. Your body is on fire, clenching around his fingers, aching for more than just his hand. You need to feel him — all of him — pressing into the ache that's been building since dawn.

He pulls his fingers out and strokes them over your entrance, teasing you as he shifts closer. You reach back and slide your hand inside his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his meat. He’s hot, thick, and pulsing in your palm.

You lift your leg and tilt your hips, opening yourself to him. He groans and lines himself up, his tip brushing against your slick folds. Slowly, he pushes in.

You gasp — every inch stretches you open, taking him. He sinks into you with a low, guttural sound, pressing his chest to your back, his arms around your middle, his breath hot against your neck.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So full of me already.”

He starts to move — slow, deliberate thrusts that grind into you from behind. Each one sends heat coiling low in your belly. His hand cups your breast, fingers toying with your nipple as he fucks you with slow, deep strokes.

“You were made for this,” he whispers, voice thick with awe. “Made to take me. Look at you, swollen, glowing, full of life and still so fucking tight.”

You whimper, every nerve alight. The friction, the fullness, the way his body cages yours — it’s all too much.

Your orgasm builds sharp and fast, and when it crashes over you, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

Your body clenches around him, and he groans deep, thrusting harder now, chasing his own release. His fingers tighten on your hips as he drives into you, rougher, faster, until with a final growl he spills into you, pulsing deep inside.

The room goes still except for your panting breaths.

He kisses your shoulder. “Still cold?”

You smile, blissed out and sore in the best way. “Not even a little.”

[writingsbytee]

All That Glitters

Pairing: Billionaire!Terry Richmond x Mean!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, angst, PIV, FILTH, mask kink, breeding kink if you squint, primal kink if you squint, possessive Terry, toxic for his lady Terry, fingering (female receiving), teasing, dirty talk, enemies, established relationship, AU Terry, OOC Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball where you are encouraged to don a mask and reveal your true desires. Come celebrate with the reclusive host, deep in the Italian countryside, and you may find more than you bargained for. Please arrive promptly and under no circumstances are you to bring your own mask. 

Word Count: 6,527k

AO3 Link | Original Moodboard 🥵by @theogbadbitch

A/N: Whew, I had to take a giant step back and protect my mental health. Thanks for rocking with my unplanned hiatus ya'll. I love you. 😚 For the follower celebration pt 2 poll, YOU voted for Mean Reader, Billionaire Terry, and slice of life! 🥳 I know this is a long time coming, but mean readers do not come easy to me ya'll! SO I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

PSA, I no longer have a taglist for Terry fics. Please follow the side blog @lost-lovers-club and turn on all notifications. The only ones still tagged are part of my permanent list. Please don't ask to be on the permanent list just to get tagged for Terry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

“Boo, you whore,” you harshly whispered into your phone. Your best friend, Michelle, giggled on the other end. 

“You’ll be fine without me,” she said.

“Of course I will, but who will I talk shit with about everybody here?” You rolled your eyes at a party guest who gave you a stank look. You meant what you said. You hated that Michelle flaked at the last minute, especially considering who’s party it was. But she had job obligations she couldn’t get out of.

“Fine, go be a boss. I’ll catch up with you next week,” you said. She signed off and you placed your phone in your clutch and retrieved the red and black embossed invite. There was just an address, attire, and a strict note telling you not to bring your own masquerade mask.

You approached the attendant next who smiled politely and asked for your invite. You handed it and your fluffy overcoat to her. The curly-haired blond had a name tag that said, “Christine”, and she checked a list in front of her. She stood inside of a coat closet, behind a walnut brown half door, thick enough to set up an iPad. 

Christine perused the list, her thin lips pursed in confusion before she perked up and smiled. “Yes, of course. One moment,” she said. Behind her, there was a table that held plenty of masks, some intricate, some shiny, or plain. But Christine didn’t grab any on the table. She turned behind her where there was an additional small table with a teal velvet box. 

She hung your coat up and then brought the box towards you and carefully lifted the lid. “The host has selected this for you,” Christine said. She also handed you a claim ticket that you put in your clutch.

“For me?” You asked and snorted. 

“Yes,” Christine said politely, misinterpreting your words. You only watched as Christine took out a beautiful black mask with gold filigree. There were tiny studs decorated all around the eyes and part of the nose. This would obscure most of your face, but it was too pretty to hand back.

The host selected this for you? You looked towards the other masks. Yours was nothing like theirs. Your curiosity piqued as you grabbed the mask. Christine waived to a nearby waitstaff, a man with a quick smile and a lick of hair that fell over his brow. You walked over to him and he helped secure your mask. 

You nodded your thanks and then entered the villa properly. The foyer was wide open, party guests in various masks were already four drinks in, laughing and mingling amongst themselves or spilling out of one of the many adjacent rooms, taking the opportunity to be nosy.

Music shook the floors through speakers placed all around but it wasn’t loud enough to hurt your ears. Streamers and balloons filled the high ceilings, an ocean of red and black bouncing and bobbing. You walked through the long strings, grinning despite yourself. Okay, not bad. 

Though people wore masks, you still looked at each person to see if there was anyone you recognized. The interior was dim, despite the bright walls, with red lighting setting off a sultry vibe. It made the open parlor seem far more seductive than it ought to be for a birthday party. It made everyone lean a little closer or flirt a little more. 

You glanced around, the sea of masks making you dizzy. But the energy in the room was upbeat and lively. It was like hanging at a work function that was actually fun. You got more than a few stares as you walked past. You knew you looked gorgeous in your blood red dress and thick wedges.

Your eyes glanced over a flash of silver. You whipped your head back around, but there was nothing there. You shrugged it off and explored nearby rooms, ignored people who wanted to talk, seeing what all the hoopla was about.

No one knew anything about the reclusive host. Only that his company had been making headlines lately with aggressive takeovers and power moves that seemed like he had insider knowledge. But it was never proven. Randomly, he announced his birthday via his representative and that he would send out invites shortly.

Naturally, everyone wanted one but no one knew who was close to the host. No one knew his name, no one knew what he looked like. That only drove the rumor mill crazy, insane with theories. The uber rich turned it up a notch by offering money for anyone who could get information about the CEO of Heartstone Industries.

No one learned a thing.

Then the exclusive invitations went out with instructions about the theme and keeping the details private. Anyone caught sharing any detail would be denied entry into the party. No one knew how he could know, but considering he owned one of the largest tech companies in the world, no one took the chance to be denied into the inner castle.

The villa itself was impressive and modern, keeping the traditional charm but had clean walls, beautiful crown molding, and tiled flooring. You always wanted a villa or big mansion somewhere. Your parents were rich, but not quite that rich. You owned your own company, you had plenty of money, but nowhere felt right. And since it was just you, you didn’t know what to do with a place like this.

Each room offered different groups of people. Some stood and argued over politics, others sports, and still more gossiped about who was around and what they were wearing. Tragically dressed people seemed familiar but the masks obscured too much. Some didn’t seem familiar at all and you wondered how the host decided who was worthy enough to be here.

You poked your head into a small receiving room that held a few couches and end tables thrown about, a bookshelf filled with stuffy academic books no one reads, and expensive rugs. There was no one in this room, one of the few that didn’t hold some type of draw like refreshments, games, or mini bars. On the other side of the room, there was an open door that led to a hallway. A tall, broad man walked past, his mask flashing silver. A prickly familiar feeling moved your body before your brain could keep up. 

When you made it to the other door, there was no man in sight. You hummed to yourself and followed a line of people towards the other wing of the house.

“I thought that was you!” You turned to the sound to see a short woman with deep mahogany skin, an olive dress that showed more cleavage than what was polite, and she wore gaudy, clunky jewelry. A heavy necklace made her neck slightly bend and it was a miracle she hadn’t tipped over.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as Lisbeth Mallory finally approached your side. Her mask was a plain silver one that had extra material on the right side. You supposed it was meant to be cute, but it only made her look like a bird. 

“These masks are supposed to hide everyone, but I can tell who’s who,” Lisbeth said, leaning in conspiratorally like you were the best of friends. Her overwhelming perfume assaulted your nostrils and you fought the urge to gag. “How are you, babe?” 

Lisbeth air-kissed both of your cheeks and you stepped back, praying her nasty ass perfume didn’t stick to you. 

“I’m curious to see who the host is. I was just –” You said. 

“You and everyone here. This was a neat theme, a little masquerade. You know people love a good excuse to get a little reckless,” she said and shimmied her shoulders. 

You nodded, unsure what she wanted, since it was clear it wasn’t to chat. Your idea of a fun party did not include the likes of Lisbeth Mallory. 

“Oh, did I tell you? My company bought the majority share in Premiere. It will do wonders for my portfolio. I caught the news. Such a shame you didn’t get in as well,” she said with a fake pout. She smiled and took a tiny sip from her champagne glass but you saw the way her eyes relished having one over on you.

You repeated the name a few times, like you weren’t sure you were familiar with it. Lisbeth’s smile faded as you didn’t find the answer quick enough. “The skincare company?” She pushed.

“Oh right!” You smiled and grabbed a bubbly pink drink from a passing waiter. You took a sip and appreciated the guava and ginger beer concoction. Was that tequila? You took another sip to check and licked your lips. Yup. Tequila. Damn it was good, like a little sunset in a cup with bold yellows, pinks, and oranges.  

Lisbeth’s eyes flashed with fury and you finally nodded. “Yes, yes, I know that company now. You bought the majority share?” 

Lisbeth’s smile returned, her shoulders relaxing now that you were playing along. “I did. I had my team on top of everything,” she said and nodded, entirely too pleased with herself. You smiled and Lisbeth beamed, vibrating with the need to rub it in your face. She brought her glass to her lips.

“Is that the same skincare company with the CEO who’s about to get indicted for multiple counts of fraud, embezzlement, and running illegal experiments on poor wittle bunnies?" You asked, your smile never leaving your face.

Lisbeth sputtered and choked on her champagne, spitting up fizzy bubbles back into her glass. You watched as she coughed more and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What are you talking about?” She asked.

You smiled sweetly. “Carter Jones, the CEO, is about to go to prison and that company is about to go under from all the lawsuits coming its way. I actually held the majority share until my connections in the SEC alerted me. So…I think I actually have you to thank for grabbing up all of my shares. Thank you, girl!” You said and grinned. 

Lisbeth tried and failed to maintain a positive facade. The corners of her mouth turned up and then down, up and down, before she smiled and stormed off without another word. She produced a phone from her purse and you sipped your drink as you moved on. Bitch.

You mingled around the west wing, people watching. You heard snippets of conversations of people boasting about their portfolios or vacationing overseas, the latest political gossip, or the state of the Dow Jones. Others in the room danced in place, wildly off beat. 

“Do you have any idea who it is?” A group of about four stood talking in a circle, holding flutes or black napkins with a tiny sandwich on it. The group had three men and one short woman with a bouncy bob that did nothing for her bone structure. 

The men were dressed in various business casual wear, khakis and long sleeves being the majority of their attire.  “Not the slightest clue. Throws a good party though. I wonder who’s going to the press first after this. This party will be analyzed from all angles.” 

You scowled. These people were so boring. Talking about the same boring things, measuring their dicks in yacht sizes and how many businesses they owned.

You explored different rooms but the guests there weren’t very interesting either. A booming laugh in a library caught your attention. You hunted for the one it belonged to and narrowed your eyes. The man had a rotund tummy that extended from his large frame as if he held a medicine ball in front of him.

His pudgy face turned red from the force of his laughter but you recognized that bushy mustache anywhere. Ken Melendez was the asshole who owned the company your dad sent you to intern at during college. That man took every opportunity to belittle you, shame you, and talk to you like you were three. Any time you made a tiny mistake, he turned it into a teachable moment and dressed you down in front of everyone.

You stuck it out for the duration of the internship but you swore that you’d never willingly cross paths with that man again. What was this, a party full of the worst people society had to offer? 

When you received the invitation in the mail, you were intrigued by the mystery. You thought this would be an exclusive event with cool or interesting people. But if Ken and Lisbeth were here, you ought to leave. Just being in the room was lowering your social standing.

You’d just take an extra look around before you left. This was a waste of your time and you hated for your time to be wasted. You sighed. The host could keep his identity a secret. You didn’t want any part of this charade. You finished off your drink and left it with the closest waiter.

You left the library and floated between rooms, picking out what you would change or keep the same. A lot of the decor was already right up your alley. The perfect mix of light and dark, something cozy with cream walls rather than stark white. Neutral flooring and wide open windows that stared out over the circular driveway illuminated with warm globes. 

A flash of silver to your right caught your attention and your heart leaped in your chest. A man stood further down the hallway, taller than anyone around him. His mask completely covered his face, but he was broad and his long sleeves cut into his bulging biceps. You stepped forward, almost scared that if you blinked, he’d return to whatever heaven he snuck out of.

He walked back slowly for every step that you took towards him. You stopped and so did he. You were tempted to turn around. You didn’t chase no man. But…you were curious. He didn’t seem like everyone else here. He moved deliberately, completely aware of his immediate area. He didn’t bump into anyone or deviate from his path. He led you further down the hallway and you had the keen sense that you were being reeled in.

It should piss you off. But sexy, thumping music spilled out of the open double doors beside him. The man disappeared inside and you took your time following. You entered the room where there were couples out on a dance floor, dancing on each other with roaming hands. The room was dark, enough to see people but not much else, with strobing red lights that flashed and bounced off of the high ceiling. 

You pushed in further, a sudden heat enveloping you. You felt tingly all of a sudden, your skin hyperware. Were you being watched? You looked around but couldn’t tell who looked at you and who didn’t. Yet, you felt exposed.

Your body shook at the thought. This was…new. You liked it. Finally, something to entertain you. You loved to hunt but hated to chase. So you hoped that this mystery man revealed himself soon or you were going to lose interest.

You walked deeper into the room. The ethereal music pumped through the floors, vibrating through your legs and into your chest. Your body moved of its own accord, starting with your shoulders. Then your body got more into it, pausing for a moment to dance because you were young, free, and gorgeous.

“Dance with me,” a smooth, deep voice said behind you, close enough you felt breath on your neck. The voice sounded familiar but you shook it off. 

You turned to the voice and looked up into a hand painted mask, half silver and half black. It was made of a type of thin, laser cut metal with unique designs and covered his entire face. Red lights played off of the mask, making his very presence seem intimidating.

The sleeves of his black button up stretched around his massive arms. He wore a black bowtie that should make him seem boyish, but only added to his apparent sexiness. His aura alone made you want to stand up a little taller and dip your hip. Someone like him had no business being in the same place as someone like Ken Melendez. 

“Who says I should?” You asked. 

The man chuckled deeply and your tummy flipped. You got a bad feeling but ignored it. It couldn’t be. God wasn’t cruel. You wanted to live in the fantasy a little longer. 

He stepped forward, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. “I do,” he said. You couldn’t see his eyes, it was so dark. Just bottomless pits where the eyes of the mask were. Yet you felt his stare all the way down to your toes.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling or giggling. “And if I say no?” You asked.

“Then I will respect your answer and jump from the nearest window,” he said. He trailed a finger down the curve of your mask, not touching you but you suddenly ached for it. He smelled divine, something expensive and woodsy. Like the first breath of crisp forest air.

He surprised a laugh out of you and you shook your head. “Then no,” you said and folded your arms.

The man tilted his head. “Then goodbye forever,” he said dramatically. He had a little drawl that tickled your brain. He turned to leave and you laughed, tugging on his sleeve to make him stay.

“You know you’re corny, right?” You asked.

“Maybe. Is it working?” He asked. He stared you down and you wished there was more light so you could see his eyes more clearly. But you felt them. As if he were burrowing deep into your subconscious, setting it on fire. It both scared and thrilled you. 

“For now,” you said. The man held out a large hand and you fought a shiver down your spine. Flashes of what he could do with that hand danced across your vision and you licked your lips at the filthy images.  

You took his hand and he grabbed you about the waist with his free hand to pull you into his body. You gasped at the closeness. Plus, he was large in every sense of the word. His height eclipsed you, his shoulders wide enough to clear a space around you both.  

He moved, shaking his hips to the beat, his hands trailing down the side of your body to grip your waist tight. He held on like he was one second away from getting blown away. The music shifted to something a little more daring and sexy, making you slide and sway on him. He made you follow his lead, pushing your hips where he wanted you to go.

His eyes never left yours as he moved. Yours never wanted to leave his. He pulled you in, made you forget there were other people in the room. Your hands roamed his arms and his shoulders.

The man spun you out and then spun you back in, your back to his chest and his hands took up their permanent residence on your waist. He pulled your ass into his crotch and you closed your eyes and threw your head back. God had to be good, because he was carrying. You shook your ass on him, tame considering where you were, but it was enough to make the heat in the room go up ten degrees. 

Mingling breaths, perfumes, and colognes threatened to choke you but you focused on this man’s scent. The way his body felt against yours. The way his hands felt on your hips. The way his height made you feel dainty and cute. 

Your body knew him down to your core. Like he plucked every single dirty thought you ever had and reflected it right back onto you. You were attracted to him. He made you want to see if his bite was anything like his bark. 

He moved in sync with you and he flipped you around to face him once more. He crowded your space, hands nearly cupping your ass. You bit your lip. A little lower and his fingers would be on your skin. You were drunk with this music. High off of the smell and feel of him. One of his hands came up to cup your neck gently. 

The rough pads of his fingertips grazed your smooth skin and you sighed from the contact. His thumb traced a lazy half moon across the hollow in your throat leaving sparks in its wake. Red flashed across his mask, the lights shiny thanks to the metal. Your pussy throbbed and you bit your lip.

“Who are you?” You asked. You felt your pulse in your neck, bumping against the palm of his hand. That only made it more thrilling. And all the more confusing.

He leaned down so that he could be heard clearly. “Do you really want to know?” He asked. 

You nodded your head. He slid his hand from your neck to your jaw, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “Once you know, there’s no going back,” he said. 

Your heart lurched. It was killing you. Because you had to know for sure, right now, before this went any further. “I know,” you said.

The man chuckled just as the song drew to a close and he bent down into a bow. He brought your hand to his mask in a mock kiss and it was so cold, it nearly burned. You gasped and flinched and he rubbed your fingers where it touched the mask.

“Last chance,” he said. He had to close the distance between you to be heard. 

When you didn’t say anything, the man took off his mask. The strobe lights lit up his face and you gasped, covering your mouth. “You!” 

You turned to leave but Terry grabbed your hand and spun you back around. “Me,” he said and smirked. 

“Let me go,” you said and tried to shove him off. The prick. The arrogant bastard. “This is your party? I should’ve known. Tasteless as hell.” 

Terry held on and spun you around the dancefloor. You tried to extricate yourself with every spin. Tried to pry yourself away every time he leaned in close. But damn him. He smelled and looked good enough to eat with a spoon. 

“Liar. I saw you smiling,” he said.

Your cheeks warmed at his confession of spying on you. It wasn’t hot. Stop!

“Let go of me before I scream,” you said. Terry had maneuvered you towards the outer edges of the room while you were distracted. He pushed you against the nearest wall and ducked his head to lean in close. His breath smelled minty fresh, a hint of alcohol. 

The drink you had earlier soured in your belly. Terry was the one man you swore you’d never touch again. Never breathe in his direction so long as you walk the earth. For years, you had competed for your father’s affections. But ever since the son he always wanted waltzed through the doors, you were no better than chopped liver.

“I can find more fun ways to make you scream,” he said and grinned. He trailed the back of his fingers against your shoulder. No lower, no faster, just that mix of irritation and pleasure.

You scoffed and folded your arms. Anything to give you some distance between you. Terry looked down and though it was dark, you knew that this pose only pushed your breasts up. You dropped your hands and Terry tsked. “Still pretending to hate me?” 

“There’s nothing pretend about it,” you said. Liar, liar. Your pulse raced in your throat. Your pussy ached to feel him all over again. The only man able to find that spot and sign his name. Terry stepped closer, using his full height to his advantage. 

He brought his hand up to trail a finger around your throat and over your jumping pulse. You gasped, the rough pad of his finger conjuring all the filthy things you did in your father’s office as a final fuck you to the both of them. The problem was, you weren’t able to forget him. 

Years later, partners later, no one compared to Terry. And that made you hate him most of all. 

“It’s cute when you act unaffected,” he said and smirked.

You slapped his hand away. It started to feel a little too good. “Why am I here, Terry?” 

“I heard your company is doing well. I’m proud of you. You achieved exactly what you set out to do,” he said.

You had to get away. Had to move. You pushed at his shoulder. “I don’t have time to walk down memory lane with you,” you said loud enough to be heard over the music. You stepped out from underneath him. Out from the heat of his body, the look in his hypnotic eyes, the promise in the lilt of his fat bottom lip. 

Terry let you pass for all of two seconds before he gripped your swinging hand and spun you back around into him. He gripped your waist tight and pulled you flush against him. “Would you believe me if I said I did all of this for you?” 

You stopped and gaped at him. Every few seconds, red lights flashed over his face. There was no smirk. No smile. No sign that he was playing you. But you’d been burned too many times by his mind games to take anything he said at face value. He studied at the right hand of your father and you knew that the best way to win his game was to not play at all. 

“No,” you said. 

You shoved at him once more, skipping into the awaiting crowd and let the current drag you away from him. This was a mistake. You couldn’t be here. Not with him. Not with the memories threatening to consume you whole. 

You had convinced yourself that it was almost fun competing with Terry. The competitive way you two would innovate and think up new products for your father’s company. The way you would snipe at each other and try to one up each other in meetings. Sniping turned to lingering touches, stolen kisses, quickies in closed offices late at night.

And you pretended it didn’t hurt when he acted like nothing changed during business hours. You denied his requests for dinner or to be seen anywhere with him in public. He didn’t hide you but he didn’t claim you either. Too afraid of your father finding out and he’d lose access to the life he was trying to build. The prestige and money he was steadfast in pursuing. You hoped it was worth it. 

You pushed and shoved at people, clearing the way to the exit. To freedom. Your chest felt too tight. Eyes too hot and itchy. You needed to go. You could not let him in. You thought this would go differently should you ever cross paths with him. Thought that you’d be meaner, crueler, uncaring. 

Out in the hall, the temperature dropped and cool air rushed over your skin bringing much needed relief. You had forgotten that quickly what it was like to be in Terry’s orbit. 

You rushed down the hall, taking quick turns and sharp twists to get back to the foyer area. You didn’t hear Terry moving behind you but you were too scared to look. You didn’t know which was worse. If he came after you or if he let you walk away again.

You opened your clutch and frantically searched for your claim ticket, the pale pink tab lost in your pit of miscellaneous items. “Fuck,” you said when the clutch dropped to the floor. You swooped to capture it, dug furiously, and found the damn thing. 

You practically ran to the coat closet, shoving the ticket in the lady’s face. “I need to go now,” you said. 

The look on your face must’ve told her you meant business because she didn’t say a word. Just grabbed your ticket and went in search of your coat. You snatched the mask off of your face. It was too pretty to throw to the ground, so you held it awkwardly.

“She won’t need that yet,” Terry said.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Coat. Now. Please,” you said through clenched teeth. Body heat licked your back as Terry stepped closer. Your neck prickled from the ferocity of his stare. A few more inches and his crotch would be against your ass. He leaned over you, his chest and arm brushing your back, and opened the coat closet door.

“Take twenty, please, Christine,” Terry said.

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly, sliding out of the room. She didn’t glance at you as she moved. Coward. 

“Terry–” You started but Terry pushed you into the coat closet and snapped the door shut. He locked it and then closed the top half, drowning you in darkness. The only sound was the scuffle of his shoes and his quiet breathing. 

You backed away, holding your hands out on either side of you to make sure you didn’t trip over the table or bust your ass. Terry flipped on a small lamp, enough to see by but not enough to blind you. 

When did he get so big? It was like he grew two sizes since the last time you’d seen him. He’d always been taller and more broad, but now, it was like he swallowed who he used to be. 

Terry licked his lips and stepped closer, crowding your space. “You can’t run in here,” he said. 

That only activated your flight mode. You glanced to either side of him, judging how much space there was between the coats around you and Terry’s large frame. He waited, watched as you worked it out for yourself. 

“Shit.” 

Terry smirked and stepped forward, pushing you against the wall. He placed his hands on either side of your head and leaned down. You held your breath, not wanting to be seduced by the very smell of him. But that damn woodsy scent was like an aphrodisiac. It only made you want to drag him closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. 

You gasped and blinked up through your eyelashes at him. “I let you walk away from me once. I won’t do it again,” he continued. 

“Fuck you,” you said but there was no real heat in it. The bastard knew it and smirked. He licked his lips slowly and damn him, you looked and remembered exactly what those lips felt like on yours. On your body. Between your legs. 

It was just the lust talking. Nothing you said tonight was the truth. It couldn’t be. It was coerced by the sheer power of his penis.

“We don’t work, Terry,” you said. 

“We do,” he said. He moved one hand to cup your cheek. He made you look at him. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t want you,” you said and narrowed your eyes. 

Terry grinned. “Tell me to leave you alone,” he said. 

“Leave me alone,” you said, trying like hell to inject some venom. Some authority. Anything to convince him that you meant what you said. You couldn’t want him. You had to leave him alone. Going down this lane only spelled trouble and heartbreak.

A fever broke out over your skin. Sweat gathered over your brow and your thighs shook. He was so close. So tall. Gigantic.

“Tell me you don’t think about what this could be,” he whispered. 

“I hate you,” you whispered. You gripped his shirt, fisting it, fully intending to shove him away one final time. To say the words that you knew would hurt him. Knew would piss him off. You knew exactly which buttons to press to fan his temper, get him hot under the collar. But the words stuck in your throat. 

How many nights had you lost sleep wondering what could’ve happened between you? What would a real relationship with him look like? 

Terry leaned down, lips close but not enough to touch. His breath mingled with yours. His subtle cologne drove you wild. Made you remember those long nights in the office when he’d give you his special look. When those mesmerizing eyes would glance all over your body, like he wanted to eat you alive. 

“You fucking bastard,” you said and pulled him closer into a kiss. You moaned at your first taste after years of thirst. His lips were still just as juicy. Just as full. Just as commanding. 

You bit his lip and he growled. “Do it again,” he commanded, low, deep in the back of his throat. 

You bit his lip again while he moved his hands to the hem of your dress and slid it up your thighs. You ached. God, how you ached. You wanted to hate him. Wanted to hate how he lied, how he bamboozled you. You wanted to toss him off the nearest balcony and hear him plead for his life. 

But it wasn’t all on him. Both of you were there and it wasn’t like you were the best at expressing yourself. You could’ve just as easily told him what you wanted. Told him that stolen kisses and illicit trysts weren’t enough for you. Not when it came to his magnetic pull. His sharp mind. His assessing gaze won even the hardest investor over. 

But you were a coward. A fool. A naive little girl who wanted him to be a mind reader. And after years of kissing frogs, you were done settling. Because all it took was one damning look. One smirk. One finger pushing past your panties, sliding into your wet heat before you bit down on his shoulder and screamed. 

“Fuckin’ missed this,” he said. He plunged two fingers into you, making you take him. You gushed on his fingers and he moaned. “Still greedy?” 

You nodded against his shoulder. “Fuck,” you moaned. He did more with two fingers than your last two conquests did with one dick. 

“You will always be mine. You belong to me,” he moaned, kissing the side of your neck. You threw your head back against the wall, eyes closed to the overwhelming pleasure cramping your lower belly. You gripped his shirt, holding on for dear life. 

Terry slowed his fingers. “Look at me,” he commanded.

You shook your head. If you looked at him, it was real. This wasn’t a dream. Terry repeated his demand, stilling his fingers all together. You had to decide. Could you believe this version of Terry? 

Your heart beat too loudly in your ears. Your rapid breaths stuttered with his. Your chests rose and fell against each other in perfect sync. You whined but opened your eyes to look at him. 

His eyes relaxed when you did, a breathtaking grin spreading across his gorgeous face. “You belong to me,” he said. 

“I do,” you whispered.

“Say it,” he said. 

“I belong to you,” you recited. Terry’s fingers pushed faster and faster, your slick entrance echoing in the cramped room. Your thick thighs trapped his hands as your orgasm tore through you like a tornado, ripping up everything in its path. You screamed loud, moaning as swirls of pleasure robbed you of breath and strength. 

Terry kissed the rest of your moans, trapping your lips with his and swallowed everything you threw at him. He ripped your panties from your legs. The bite of pain was worth it; he lowered his zipper, freeing himself. 

“You’re mine,” you said. This had to go both ways in order for this to work. You had to be equals in this. No longer the subject of his whims. 

Terry grinned and lifted your right leg. He slid it over his thigh, opening you wider. He drew the head of his dick back and forth, gathering up your slick and rubbing himself with it. You smelled yourself, the sweet aroma of your essence only turning you on more.

“I’m yours. I’ve always been yours,” he groaned as he slid in. 

It was like sliding home. You opened your mouth from the fullness of him. The rightness of it. He slid in easily like he was the perfect key to your lock. “Fuck!” You screamed.

Terry kissed you and you stopped fighting. You released your pent up anger, unspoken hurts and pains, and just surrendered to the feel of him. He was just as big as you remembered. The veins of his dick slid against your inner walls, hammering away at your cervix like he wanted to plant a baby. 

“Missed this. Missed you,” he groaned against the hollow of your throat. 

“Terry,” you moaned. That was all the warning you gave him before he fucked you into another orgasm, not stopping because he wasn’t ready to. The back of your thighs trembled, hardened nipples rubbing against the fabric of your dress. 

Terry captured your lips again, sucking down every moan you uttered. Every sigh that escaped. Every curse on your tongue. 

“Fuuuck,” he moaned low and deep before his hot, spurting cum bathed your pussy. You quivered on his dick while he throbbed, pulsed, stuffed you completely full. 

You waited for the regret to sink in. For the anger you held onto all these years to come creeping back. You waited for the insults to stack up in your brain ready to be fired like nuclear missiles. 

None came.

Your fingers cramped from where you held onto Terry. You both panted, out of breath, trying to climb down from heaven after that little bit of taste of paradise. It felt too right to regret. Too epic to relegate back to the line in the sand you had drawn years ago. 

Terry kissed your cheeks, your lips, and your neck. His ragged breaths fanned all over your overheated skin. He dragged his eyes back to yours and smirked. He leaned his nose against yours, planting tender kisses. He waited until he softened and then slipped out, righting himself. 

A rush of cum slipped out behind him and you moaned. He was quick to use a handkerchief to clean you as best as he was able. 

“Come on,” he said, an urgency creeping into his words.

“Wait, wait. Where?” You asked. 

Terry grinned. “There’s a few people on your shit list out there. I didn’t invite them for no reason,” he said cryptically. 

Terry grabbed your hand and tugged you out of the room, all the way to the grand ballroom where he quickly announced all of the ways he took down your most notable enemies. Starting with Ken Melendez and the way Terry bought his company to sell for parts. Lisbeth Mallory would soon be under investigation herself. 

And you had the distinct pleasure of watching your enemies fall one by one. As far as apologies went, Terry took the cake. 

The end.

Thanks for reading! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[writingsbytee]

Me, waiting for my favorite writers to update fanfics when I could be writing and updating my own:

[writingsbytee]

[writingsbytee]

the way elijah is actually tearing up when he’s trying to get sammie to “leave all this improper shit to us,” is so… i think it speaks to how elijah thinks of himself and where he is in life. he wanted more, he and his brother wanted more, but the blood of their father kept them from being able to go down to mound bayou and make a living with the “proper Black folks.” and i think at a certain point it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. the whole world saw elijah and elias as no good, so it’s what they became. i think elijah really wanted more for his and his brother’s lives. i think, if he could have, he would have left all that “improper shit” behind and lived a good life. but he was dealt bad cards and he became a bad player to keep his head above water.

[writingsbytee]

"Last time I seen my brother... last time I seen the sun." [Sinners - Ryan Coogler]

[writingsbytee]

Sound on to hear the water running through pebbles

[writingsbytee]

[writingsbytee]

The hate that these two have gotten and the way peacock refuses to speak up and defend them makes me want to never watch the show again. They deserved so much better🥺