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jimmybutlrr · 2 months ago

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Thank you for such an amazing series, you did wonderful with communicating the feelings between Virgil and Niamh.

I can’t wait to see what you put out next❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Missing Piece. (Part nine).

Wc: 3.6k

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

A/n: Told you I’d wrap it up lmaooo. Final part to this series because you know how I feel about drawn out writing. Thanks for every read, every comment, and every like. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it🫶🏾

The stupid little strap of the cone hat digs into his skin in a way that would’ve been a real nuisance any other day. Not today though. Today is his oldest baby’s birthday. His Shelly. His head is much too big for the small hat, and all his children and Niamh had made it known just how amusing they found it when he slipped it on earlier. But he’d keep the stupid hat on for hours if he gets to see them like this; Niamh and ten other children, including his own, jumping around wildly in a bounce house. Niamh holds Mason’s hands in hers as a safety precaution because he’s the smallest of the group. It didn’t take her much convincing to get him to agree to this. What can he say? He’s weak to the women in his life. It’s small, just a few of her closest friends at school and their parents; but Shelly is so happy that she cried when she saw the decorations this morning. The past month has been nothing but pure bliss that he sometimes thinks he might be in a twisted dream. His lawyer had sent a very strongly worded email to his wife— the woman had reached out to him to let him know she had changed her mind and that sticking to their routine visits was fine. He was so fucking ecstatic that he took them out for the entire week- dinner, ice cream, bowling. There are some days that the darkness threatens to pull him back in— like watching his team struggle and losing a game with the title race being tight. Some defensive errors that he knew he could’ve easily covered if he was on the pitch. But Niamh would immediately notice that he hadn’t left his room all day and quietly enter. Not to speak or ask superficial questions like ‘are you okay?’ No, she would come in, gather his head on her lap and scratch at his scalp in the quiet, dark room. Just offering the unspoken reassurance that she’d be there for him. Virgil always believed that there’s no real timeline to fall in love. It’s something that just happens. Yet, he never really expected to be pondering whether or not the warm, fluttering of his heart when he sees her and contentment he feels by simply being in her presence could be the big L word after only a few short months. The muscle in his chest clenches tightly as Niamh makes her way over with Mason clutching her hand. She’s absolutely beaming at him.

“You’re on bounce duty now, daddy. I’m going to help Ivy with plating the snacks.”

Virgil has the urge to do something stupid. Something stupid like gathering her in his arms to kiss her silly. But he can’t; not right now. Not in front of strangers who would spread gossip before they even discussed what was happening between them— not when he hadn't even spoken to the children about their relationship.

“Stop looking at me like that.” She says bashfully while doing a quick scan of the backyard.

He reaches for Mason’s hand but he doesn’t stop staring. “How can I, Niamh?”

The woman has recently got braids that flow down her back with some pretty little curls incorporated throughout. She had called them boho braids when Aurora inquired about them. Whatever they’re called, they look good on her. The jeans she wears hugs her frame that has slowly been filling out a bit more recently. He fucking loves it. The olive green knitted jumper complements her brown skin so well.

“Not here, Virgil.”

But he sees the way she folds her lips to hide her smile before heading inside the house. Mason tugs at his impatiently with a frown on his face. He’s almost glaring up at him. He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat.

“My bad, buddy. Let’s go.”

***********

Shelly is almost passed out against her shoulder as she carries her to bed. Niamh smiles; the little girl had a long day of fun. They both worked together to organize the party. Niamh had introduced Shelly to ‘Totally Spies’ a few weeks prior and she had grown obsessed with the show and decided she wanted her party to have the theme. The cake, the decoration and even her costume was a reflection of her love for the cartoon. After partying all day, Niamh brought the kids upstairs to give them their baths while Virgil and Ivy cleaned up the kitchen and backyard. Ivy left for the evening and they all gathered in the living room for Shelly to open her presents. Then they played a disastrous game of monopoly while having more cake. Niamh didn’t even flinch when Shelly climbed into her lap with her eyes half mast until she fell asleep. Placing her gently on the bed, Niamh tucks her in and presses a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Best birthday ever, love you, Niamh.” Her voice is no louder than a whisper and her eyes barely open. But Niamh chokes up anyway.

“I love you too, Shelly. Sweet dreams.”

And that’s how Virgil finds her teary eyed in the hallway after exiting Mason’s room.

“What’s wrong?” The volume of his voice is low.

“Nothing. Shelly told me she loved me.” She says through a sniffle.

Virgil laughs softly and gathers her in his arms.

“You’re so cute.”

“You’re just jealous.” She teases as she rests her chin on his chest, blinking up at him with wet eyes.

“Damn, you’ve got me.”

She giggles at his antics and closes her eyes in anticipation for the soft press of his lips against hers.

“Been wanting to do this all day.”

He mutters between every soft, chaste press of their lips. Niamh’s sighs turn to a quiet moan as his hands cups the curve of her ass in a gentle squeeze.

“What time is it? I need to head home.”

His hands tighten around her waist as she pulls away from him.

“You should just… stay here every night. It would make your job easier and I’d pay you extra.”

Niamh tries to hide her smile as he feigns nonchalance.

“Mhmm, even though you’ve already tripled my salary for no reason?” She asks slyly.

“I did promise the rate would increase if the job is done well.” His eyes are piercing; Niamh used to be intimidated by them, now she challenges him back with her own heavy gaze.

“And you only want me here all the time because it would make my job easier despite you getting them ready some mornings anyway?”

Her cheeky smile grows tight around the edges when Virgil doesn’t return her playful expression. Instead, his face grows solemn. He takes a while to respond and the strained silence makes her hold her breath.

“Sure, Niamh.”

She clears her throat loudly. “My apartment is a lot closer to school.”

“I’ll have the driver take you until you get your license.”

The man has been determined to make her get her license. He started teaching her about driving, road rules and basics of a vehicle some time ago. She’ll officially start her lessons soon.

“In that case, it would be a lot easier.”

He dips his head again to kiss the contemplative look off her face.

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

***************

“I’m waiting on an answer, Niamh.”

He’s surprised his voice is this calm despite the inferno burning beneath the surface of his skin. The woman clenches wildly around his fingers inside her. He doesn’t move them— he just allows them to nestle perfectly inside her. She tries to subtly shift her hips to get some stimulation.

“Niamh.” He warns firmly. She immediately ceases her movements with a small whine. Her soft walls flutter helplessly around his middle and ring finger. She’s dripping everywhere, but he was mindful to lay a towel down this time at least.

“I- I don’t know. Please, Vir-”

“No, Niamh. You do know it. It was on one of your flash cards.” Virgil sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He’s so hard it fucking hurts and he twitches beneath his sweats every time she makes a sound.

“But I d-don’t rememb-”

He tutts in disappointment and moves to pull his fingers out. Niamh flails in panic, gripping at his wrist to keep him inside.

“Wait! Please… I- I don’t remember the question.” She rushes out breathlessly.

“What does the shape of a protein determine?”

“Um…”

“Come on, sweetheart, you know it. You’ve been doing so well. This is the last one.” He says gently. He subtly flicks at that little spot inside, laughing softly at the way her hips jerk and her thighs quiver. She’s so on edge; he has had her like this for almost an hour now. Her exams officially begin on Monday and he has been trying to help her study for almost two weeks now. He had joked about rewarding her for studying some time ago but the man actually noticed that using pleasure like this really motivates her to study and helps her retain information better. He has created a monster.

“The f-function?” It’s a timid whisper from her lips. He knows why. She’s afraid he’ll leave her dry (not quite) and hanging if she doesn’t answer correctly.

“Speak up, Niamh.”

“The function of the protein!”

He doesn’t respond immediately— just to watch the way she eyes him in timid panic, just to enjoy the way she tenses around his fingers with her mouth already in a pout to beg in case she’s wrong.

“Good girl.”

She gives a high pitched little keen as some of the tension melts from her body. Virgil throws the flash cards haphazardly on the floor behind him before climbing onto the bed. She meets him halfway in the kiss, tongue immediately seeking his own. Always so eager. It reminds him of the time he tested his theory of being able to get her off with just his lips on hers. He wasn’t surprised that it worked but rather by how quickly she came just from some sloppy kissing while humping at his leg like a dog.

“What do you need from me, baby? Tongue? Fingers?”

At the mention of his fingers, he meticulously slides them in and out of her. The sounds of him gliding through her wetness is so erotic; he can’t help the way he moans into her open mouth.

Niamh shakes her head. Instead, she reaches between them to grip at the bulge in his sweats. His breath stutters as she gives him a gentle squeeze. She has grown a lot more bold since the fourth time they fell in bed together. He remembers vividly how she blinked innocently up at him and demanded he taught her how to make him feel good. That night, she learned how to touch him— the pace he likes, how to squeeze at him with just the right amount of pressure. But what he’ll never forget is the sight of her mouth on him. She was clumsy and a bit intimidated; but as with everything else, so so eager. He didn’t care that she couldn’t take him all the way down her throat; not when she moaned around him like his taste was the best thing to ever hit her tongue— not when she blinked those pretty eyes up at him desperately with her hand working between her own legs because having him in her mouth brought her pleasure.

“Fuck, Niamh. Let me get a condo-”

“No. I… I started birth control.” She mutters shyly.

Virgil stares down at her in stunned disbelief.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Just want to feel you… all of you.”

She flicks her tongue against his lips desperately.

And Virgil? He’s so desperate for it that he physically starts shaking. Pulling his fingers from her body, he reaches for the waistband of his sweats to push it just below his hips. He can’t even care to remove it completely. He just wants— no, he needs to be inside her now. He glides along her folds a few times to get himself wet before pressing against her entrance. Her body gives under the gentle pressure and she opens around his tip to welcome him inside. He groans in tandem with her breathless moan. He’s fully prepared to stop halfway inside, just like he had the four times he’s been inside her like this. But something tells him to test the waters, so he continues— slowly inching forward. The muscles in his neck strain as he tries to keep the guttural groan in his throat. And Virgil knows immediately that tonight will be another one of those times with her that he’ll never forget. Because it’s the first time her body welcomes every single inch of him. Niamh grips onto his shoulders with a little sob falling from her lips. He dips his head to swallow the sound before he starts moving. Slow little drags against her walls that flutter around him. She locks her legs around his waist, pushing the sweats further down his legs with her toes. His tip kisses at something harder deep inside and she jerks in response, groaning in his mouth. She breaks the kiss with a tormented furrow between her brows.

“Fuck, Virg. You’re so deep.”

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes.

He immediately moves to shift his hips back, but Niamh locks her legs tighter around him, keeping his hips in place.

“Don’t. I like it. It’s— hah, hurts so good.”

A string of helpless curses fall from his mouth. He hoists her right leg over his shoulder— the new angle allows him to slip deeper inside. Niamh sinks her teeth into his shoulder and the sharp pain blindsides him. He can only moan helplessly as his thighs tense and then he’s coming. He fucks into her sloppily and Niamh— Niamh the undercover little minx clenches around him, whispering little praises in his ear to heighten the feeling so much it feels like his body is being wrung dry.

“So good for me, baby. Was made to take your dick.”

“Fucking hell.”

It feels so overwhelming and he’s momentarily stunned to feel tears pricking at his eyes. He’s shaking so much that he collapses into her body, his arms giving out. He slowly slips out of her and eases two fingers inside. He’s so fucking spent but still manages to twitch feeling her insides flooded with him— sticky, warm. He barely has the frame of mind to be skillful, so with little finesse, he angles his fingers upward to rub at that spot that makes her speak gibberish. It doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry, spasming around his fingers as his name falls from her lips like a mantra.

“Fuck, Niamh. I think I’m in love with you.”

He feels her body stiffen beneath him, but his thoughts are so scattered he can only wrap an arm around her waist before he passes out.

**************

“So… when are you two going to tell the kids?”

Ivy’s question makes them both freeze in the middle of the kitchen. The woman had called them both in asking for help dishing out dinner— now Niamh is realizing that she just wanted to be nosy.

“Erm, tell them what?”

Ivy gives Niamh an almost insulted look.

“Check my birth certificate, pumpkin. You will be surprised to find that I wasn’t born yesterday. So I repeat, when are you telling the kids?”

Virgil chuckles to her right and Niamh turns to glare at him.

“What? That birth certificate comment was funny.” He scratches at his neck shyly under her harsh stare.

“You’re not helping.” She whisper-yells even though the woman is in earshot. Virgil reaches for her waist and pulls her body into his. Niamh stares in wide-eyed disbelief as he drops his head to peck at her lips.

“What? She already knows.” He says with a shrug.

“Virgil, go get the kids washed up for dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Niamh wants to roll her eyes in pure exasperation watching as the grown adult man gives her a salute before leaving the kitchen.

She slowly turns to face an amused looking Ivy, who stands with her hips cocked.

“We… they’re visiting their mother for the holidays in a few days, we planned to tell them before they leave.” She can’t help but wring her hands together. She’s anxious about it. They had finally discussed it the morning after Virgil had told her he might love her before passing out. The gentle giant admitted that he liked her a lot and he has been thinking about his feelings for a while.

“It… I’m not sure if it’s love yet. What I feel for you is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. With Olivia, it was slow… gradual. But with you, it’s all consuming and sudden. I’m not sure if it’s love yet but I know it’s getting there and I want to try it with you, if you want the same thing.”

Niamh didn’t hesitate to agree. She knew she wanted him the very moment she saw him in this kitchen. Looking gruff and angry. Because beneath that she also saw a man that was just… lost. Her feelings solidified when he attended that play. He was so open with his tears, uncaring if anyone saw. A man who isn’t afraid to show his love or his vulnerability. Niamh knew from that moment that she had to have him.

“They adore you, stop worrying. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family, Niamh. They weren’t broken, just… incomplete and they’ve found their missing piece.”

*************

Aurora’s high pitched scream causes laughter to ripple through the crowd of people gathered in the auditorium.

“Go Niamh! That’s my other mommy!”

Niamh ducks her head bashfully after receiving her diploma and moves quickly across the stage. She waves shyly in their direction and almost starts sobbing at the proud look in Virgil’s teary eyes. It has been almost a year of officially being his woman as he calls it.

“Girlfriend feels too childish for a man my age.”

They told the kids in December, right before they left to spend the holidays with their mother. Their reactions were varied in ways that she can only describe as uniquely them. Shelly, sweet, empathetic, Shelly had cried out of happiness with her tiny hands clutched around Niamh’s neck. And Aurora- always overly excited, had ran around the living room yelling that she now has two mommies. Mason just sucked at his fingers but leaned quietly in Niamh’s side in silent acceptance. It was a challenge to get them to leave after though; all of them wanted to spend the holidays with Niamh and Virgil. It was heartbreaking watching them cry as they left, but all was forgiven when they got back home in January to find her waiting at home for them. It has been so surreal. Virgil spoils her rotten, not just with material gifts, but with gestures- some small, some grand. But she has never been shown love like this before and it gets so overwhelming at times she doesn’t know how to process it.

“You deserve to be loved, baby. You give so much, relax and receive it too.” Were the words Virgil had whispered against her trembling lips when they surprised her in bed with a poorly decorated cake they had all made for her. So she takes it all in stride; even when the little black monster niggles at the back of her brain with sinister thoughts, she repeats his words like a mantra.

Aurora is the first one to leap into her arms as she joins them after the ceremony ends.

“You did it! You gratuated!”

“Graduated, Aurora.” Shelly gently corrects, stepping closer to hug at her waist.

“That’s what I said!”

Shelly doesn’t bother responding and the three of them share a laugh. Mason clutches onto her leg without saying a word. And Virgil; despite the onlookers, despite the people subtly recording, moves forward to press a gentle kiss onto her mouth.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

The tears are instantaneous. She has stopped growing shy of being the centre of attention. That changed the minute he was able to get back on the pitch again two months ago and invited her to all the games. Her face has long been in the headlines, especially after they won the league and he brought her on the pitch to celebrate. She’s known. People talk. But she doesn’t care. Not when she has this. Not when she feels all the love pouring from the three smaller bodies between them. Not when he eyes her like she’s something precious to be treasured and adored.

“I love you.”

The words come tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them. He told her on her birthday with surety.

“I love you, Niamh. You don’t have to say it because you feel the need to. But there’s no doubt in my mind.”

And he kept saying it, despite her never echoing the words back. But now she’s sure. She’s so certain and she has been for months. She was just waiting for the right moment. And this is it.

He’s momentarily stunned but eventually breaks into a smile as he inhales a shuddering breath.

“We should get Niamh ice cream because she gratuated, right daddy?” Aurora yells cheekily.

Mason perks up at the sound of ice cream and stares up at them expectantly. Virgil and Niamh share a full-bellied laugh.

“You’re so cheeky, aren’t you? But ice cream sounds lovely.”

The children skip away in glee while Virgil reaches to clasp her hand in his. Niamh is so overwhelmed by happiness that fresh tears roll down her cheeks. Virgil and Ivy speak about her healing the family constantly, but they have no idea how much they’ve healed her as well.

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jimmybutlrr · 2 months ago

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Sooo Gooodd😩😩🤪🤪

CHEETAH PT.4

virgil van dijk x black!reader

As tight as cornrows—no that wouldn’t do it justice. It was a grip so tight it bordered on pain, his hands trembling with such a fierce and fragile emotion.

Anger.

That was the extent of Virgil’s grip on Ameena wrist, dragging her unapologetically through the decreasing sea of bodies in the club. His muscles rippled under his shirt rigid with fury—a testament to his anger for Ameena. The relentless grip pressed her Van Cleef Bracelet’s gold chaining into the surface of her wrist’s thin skin painfully, but her winces and pleas for him to release his grip were lost amongst the cacophony of noise in his mind planting more seeds of rage. Virgil was aiming straight for his car and his pace reflected that; so much that none of the starstrucked fans and blogs in his way dared to approach or film them. With a strut– or literal dragging– this fast it was truly a miracle that Ameena’s short dress didn’t ride up all the way up her ass. Now that would be the cherry on the cake of social embarrassment. She felt like she was being dragged by the arm like a hissy toddler by their fed up parent.

“You’re—Oh my God—you’re hurting me you fool.” her wrist starts to throb—an indication of the cuts being made to her skin with the scratchy gold chaining.

“I’m going to murder you, swear to God.” she seethes at the brink of angry tears as she feels her wrist pulse from the pressure.

By now, they had reached the car park and were staggering towards Virgil’s Black Urus. The backroad they were in was now completely empty with an exception of frosted over cars that belonged to people living on the street; only the sounds of leaves ruffling kept the world alive at this time of night and the occasional sound of buzzing street lights. But the streetlights were sketchy, flickering and barely illuminating the few meters ahead of them so Ameena clung close to him, just until they got to the car. She hated cats, rats and squirrels and at this time of the night those were animals she was likely to see.

Virgil reached into his pockets for his car keys and unlocked his car. His blinkers flashed and a small beep sounded throughout the night’s air. That's when she noticed he hadn’t actually spared her a glance the whole time so for him to assume she’d get in his car was bold.

“Don’t you ever touch me like that again!” she exclaimed once they stood in front of his car, her voice cracked with thoroughness. Ameena knew he’d finally listen to her words because there were no more external distractions, or internal ones. It seemed his heated thoughts were turning into vapor and leaving his mouth as clouds in the cold air by the time they got to the car...so she was able to wring away from his grip and speak her mind.

It shocked him the amount of projection she was able to fulfill in her small frame as her words echoed through the carpark even whilst her breaths were shallow and she looked completely overwhelmed by his presence.

“I’m not getting in with you, call me a taxi.” she spat. “Now.”

“The absolute cheek of you to think you can show up and ruin my night after you’ve had your little fun with your fucking prostitutes. But the jokes on you, you’ve probably caught something anyways because you’re a whore.Sstay the fuck away from me” He glares at the smaller woman standing angry in front of him with frustration watching as she crosses her arms under her breasts. She glares back with just as much frustration but he’s not all ashamed to let her see his primal gaze glazing up and down her short, curvaceous physique. Unknowingly, her breasts (glistening under the night skies twinkle) were spilling out of her green crochet dress inviting him to think primitive things about what he’d been longing to do to her small frame. His dick twitched underneath his zipper, but he consciously brings himself back to the very disappointing reality that was his girl misbehaving.

“Ruin what, Ameena? Fucking look at what you’re wearing I’m doing you a favour..” As angry as she was, and poised as she was trying to be, she could taste his sour words in her mouth and it took her aback, completely derailing her plan to intimidate him.

He knew she looked breathtaking to say the very least, but was too proud to admit that she was looking as good as ever in his absence. As a proud man, it was a tough pill to swallow.. He only wanted her to flourish when she was with him. She obviously looked good and always did. This was objective. But the thought of his horndog teammates even being able to look at her figure and that face and think nasty thoughts about his possessions sent him to a dark place, a dark place not even jealousy could take him. It was primal rage.

“....what…?”she finally replies after a few blinks. She felt like the sexiest woman on earth all day until now.

Only God knows what came over Ameena, the sudden wave of sadness that washed over her was paralyzing. Not for long though, she slowly became disgusted with herself. She was disgusted with the fact she was giving herself the victim label by continuously giving this man room to degrade her when he was the only one doing wrong. Feeling validated in her mind she lurches towards Virgil with determination written on her face and spits.

“Fuck y-you!!!” her voice and the broken nuances echoed along the roads near them even louder this time, the trees stilled as they listened and the wind’s howling ceased. The world’s elements understood the pain behind a woman’s scream.

His neck tenses from the impact when it lands on chin with a splat, melting into his goatee. He rubs at his face with his shirt and, as if it was second nature, he grabs her arms with ease pulling her towards his body closing the space between them so they feel each other’s heart beating, racing. There was no scowl on his face, no hint of anger despite his telling grip. He was relishing the faint scent of floral musk that had wafted to his nose from her skin, her signature scent. Her scent was nothing less than hypnotic, persuading him to envision all of the ungodly acts he couldn’t wait to perform on her later.

“I’m sorry” he whispers against her hair, gaining understanding of the kind of night she had through the smell of sweat in her hair. Ameena’s body is confused, she wants to relax into him but she’s angry. She doesn’t stop him from embracing her body; she finds herself melting into it for one more second before he pulls away from her to look down into her angry eyes. “I haven’t been good to you”.

He waits for the shift in her body language, specifically a look of surprise at his sincerity after such a disrespect as spitting. His body tingles with excitement. Virgil was going to take her when she least expected it. When her straight brows softened from their frown was his queue. The taller man thrusts his left hand into her head of hair, fisting her strands tightly from the back and pulling hard. Her head bent backwards, uncomfortably, as she shrieks.

“But spitting is not nice Ameena” He grips her hair harder only stopping once the pain becomes unbearable. Their eyes bore into each other, her scared ones and his determined ones. He won in that moment seeing her eyes pleading at him; cocky, he scans the car park briefly to check for people one last time before letting go abruptly as if his hands burnt. Her hands find her head immediately to soothe her scalp.

Ameena breathes heavily, regaining control of her neck and consequently her airways. She doesn’t need to utter an apology, it was written on her face.

“Y- you can hurt me all you want, you’re still going to have to work hard for me to forgive you, you can’t scare your way out of apologizing to me” she says boldly.

But yet again, she feels frustrated with herself, it was all an act from her—acting angry and as though she didn’t need him. It was embarrassing that underneath her hard exterior she felt better, relieved to be in his presence, there was something about his presence that made her feel safe and alive, more alive than ever—he’d never know though.

“I don’t apologize more than once”

“I don’t accept your two word apology. No, no way. You know how to work, so you’re gonna.” she bites out.

His eyes narrow as she enunciates every word,“You’re being fucking difficult.”

She scoffs, not surprised that once again she was being made out as the problem. She stomps on his foot, pushing away from him as the tall man groans in pain.

“I will be fucking difficult, but real men rise up to the challenge instead of bitching.”

He rotates his foot round and round on the balls of his feet and finds himself and can only laugh at her blatant disrespect. Wow, he thought, his absence was rubbing off on the way she was addressing him with inferiority, daring him to have to prove himself the opposite. Unfortunately for Ameena, he was a competitive man and not one to turn down a dare.

In the car

20 minutes prior.

“I need space—” she laughs, not understanding how serious he was about staying with him.

The grunt of irritation that comes out of him is priceless.

“I need more time to understand what I want, and to figure out if this is worth it.” she drags on, opening Uber on her phone. Maybe she was overacting, because she did miss him, but she didn’t want him thinking he could have her back on his timing, like a damsel in distress. He had to work around her feelings too, she needed to humble him.

She tied her hair up in a high bun, the wind from outside had blown her hair in all possible directions and the mess was overstimulating whilst she was trying to find an Uber at this time of night—well technically, morning.

But that innocent action is when his world stops spinning just for a split second. He clocks the bruises spread across the skin of her neck almost immediately, some lighter some darker but there was no doubt those were hickies, fresh looking ones too.

This was his woman.

He snatches her phone from her hand, there was no way she was leaving his sight now. He doesn’t spare her a glance after he does so, he just sits there and exercises his rights to remain mute. But the silence was so deafening… it was obvious to Ameena the reason behind it.

She mentally beat herself up for being so fucking stupid.

. Ameena lets her hair down in some foolish attempt to erase his memory of the love bites. In response Virgil nodded his head slowly, absentmindedly. Hurt invaded the planes of his face. It was evident, his hurt, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. His palms rubbed his eyebrows ferociously and in a fit of rage he hit the steering wheel with his fists. One punch, then went in for a second. Ameena jumped at the sound of the car’s horn sounding at such quiet hours of midnight, she really didn’t care for the theatrics she just wanted to home, shower and wash off the boy drama’s of today. How many times should a girl have to ask?

“Virgl take me home—please…I’m so tired and I-have so much…work.” she repeated for the third time in the span of ten minutes. Despite her mind telling her she was pushing it, she still voiced her desire irregardless of the icy reception she was receiving from him. How she rationalised it was, “he loves me, clearly, he is here away from his family at ungodly hours in the morning, for me. If he cares about me this much, then yeah, surely he’ll listen to me if I begged hard enough”.

She watched Virgil intently as his adam's apple bopped up and down before he sighed out a long drawn out breath.

“I could crash the car with both of us in it if I start driving, if you want to live; be quiet and very patient” his request was slow and solemn with no humour whatsoever laced in his words and that frightened her, she’d known him for years but still didn’t know what to expect from him… he was the most unpredictable person she knew.

Chills licked down her spine making her sit up suddenly with an alertness she’d never had to all her life, all while she assessed his expression with wide eyes. She was ready to break the glass if she needed to. It was quick and instinctive–the sudden movement she made–but seeing as his eyes were now following her she had no choice but to sit back and listen to the shuddered breaths that escaped his clenched pearly whites. Every fibre of her being was pulling her to open the car door and make a run for it but the empty look in his eyes advised her against such a choice. So she sat glued, her fingers clawing into the leather seats beneath her thighs.

His eyes are devoid of any emotions. The gleam of love, admiration and care she usually saw in them was gone, or hidden behind the darker shade of brown that glazed over his eyes and in turn his soul. If they were animals by the look of his face alone she’d be eaten alive. Virgil’s eye connects to the pulse he sees on the side of Ameena’s neck beating increasingly faster. He was happy she was scared. She should be.

“I should skin your neck…” he trails off monotone, his eyes gluing to the purple hickies that lead down to her collarbone.

She tried to suppress the terror crawling up her skin but it only continued to manifest in the way goosebumps all over the exposed areas of her body appeared. For a second his gaze was so hot, so intense and burning into her soul that she forgot she had a choice to avert her gaze, and so she quickly did, staring longingly at the dull car park through the windscreen. Of course there was nothing interesting in the car park but it was better than facing him.

“Virgil, please—” she muttered, unamused.

“Are you calling my bluff?” her eyes widened, of course she was he wasn’t going to do that as angry as he was.. Her silence served him no consolation, and with haste he slithered his slender fingers around her neck, squeezing it and drinking in her fear. He needed to know it was still there. She whimpered and it was music to his ears.

“You think revenge is sweet? You think you can give another man what’s mine, hm? You do.” he bites out. His iris’ expand with his desire to play out the dark thoughts in his mind. Meanwhile, Ameena’s throat had become painfully dry, unable to string coherent words. She gulps and he squeezes tighter, the pain and shock that zapped through her body made her believe she may be a breath away from falling unconscious.

“Mmhmm” she shakes her head, rebuking hysterically as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Then why’d you do it?” he squeezes tighter and as if white spots weren’t clouding her vision she doesn't protest, she just lets him. Falling unconscious was miles better than being in his presence when his animalistic side got out. A testament to his anger was how shameless he was acting, they were in the front seat of his flashy car yet he still continued his assault, the anger he felt now in this present moment clearly prevailed over the consequences he’d face if they were to be spotted.

“Y-you hurt me..” she gasps out. “So you fuck another man?”

Ameena huffed, staring into his eyes, unblinking as if the world and their current situation had vanished beyond her eyes. She was dissociating, whilst Virgil with his unwavering grip brings her closer to his face so that their lips are just whisper away and repeats the questions louder, emphasising the word ‘fuck’ with as much aggression as he felt. She flits in response to his loud words that feel like blows and loses her words in the sight of his lips, noticing that they hadn’t been this close since October and it was late January. Her pretty doe eyes flicker back up to his eyes and she smiles against the warmth of his lips.

“...Yeah.And, I loved it.” she drags gutturally exuding toxicity in every syllable she pronounced. Virgil’s wicked expression completely drops and Ameena’s stomach flips. She embraces his eye contact and gives him a sly smirk. She does struggle to giggle with his grasp around her neck but she couldn’t let him gaslight her into thinking she was the whore.

“And I’d do it again, he’s like an e-edgier version of you, a real freak.”

His stomach claws at him and snarls sound in the back of his mind. It was his ego. An awakening.

It’s demand for attention wasn’t a formidable force…yet, so he continued to hang onto every word she said waiting for his little girl to feel like she was doing something. He wanted her to feel she was hitting some sort of nerve so when she was finished and felt most rewarded for her ‘empowering speech”..... Then. BOOM. He'd break her. He could tell she was taking his silence for a weakness, and frankly, it was exciting.

“The dreads Virgil! Come on, you can’t blame me for jumping on that almost immediately…”

The starved animal in his body had been ramming its head into the cage’s door, seeking desperately for an escape. The cage rattled and the door shuddered under the force of its impact, the iron bars screeching in protest as the animal kept hurling itself and hurling itself. The cage was still held together, barley.

“And if your upset about the love bites on my neck then you don’t want the see the ones he made on my puss—”

The iron cage that had been undergoing unrelenting assault breaks free with one last nudge from the animal. His ego breaks free.

How could any man hear that about their woman and stay composed and calm? He was going to punish her, defile her in a way he hadn’t before to teach the respect he’d spent all his life earning. Although Virgil would never throw this in her face, he funded her lifestyle and that alone should’ve acted as some form of restraint in her—but it didn't.

He released his grip on her neck, and looked around the perimeter of the carpack as she regained her breath. By this time the park had fewer cars parked all of them looked empty with frost growing on the windscreens. These cars looked like they belonged to owners living in the rows of terraced housing up the road.

Perfect.

“Get out of my car, Ameena.” he smiles with just his lips. The enraged giant trains his eyes on her love bite and unlocks her door from his side of the car and beckons with a tilt of his head.

Words, coherent words, flee from her tongue and constructive thoughts evaporate from her brain leaving her dumbfounded. The sky was already dark, but it seemed the sky was foreshadowing the dark actions Virgil would follow as darkness bled into the horizon swallowing any remaining colour from the grey clouds, and covering the tiny stars that gleamed.

“NOW Ameena, fuck!” he fumes.

“Wow, wow, wow Virgil. So original. See you should have told me you’d kick me out sooner then I would’ve gone home with him, prick!” and with that she got out of the car, slamming the doors behind her with so much force the car rattled behind her. Or she thought it was because of her power, but turning around debunked that.

Virgil with heavy, determined feet leaps out of the car and with long strides and pulls Ameena to the back of the car, bending her over the boot.

“You like to fucking disrespect me Ameena, all the time, and it makes me so mad.”

“You’re crazy…” she spits, defeated. His heavier body was pressed against hers, gluing her upper body like velcro against the cold metallic trunk.

My baby, she thought.

She prayed he wouldn’t press her stomach any further onto the trunk. The temperature of the metallic car bit into the skin of all the exposed areas of her dress and pebbled her nipples. It was freezing. She was freezing. She shivers audibly and her teeth jitter against each other as she anticipated the worst, was he going to fuck her… here…where people would see?

If this was his form of punishment for her, then he’d be disappointed. This was thrilling for her, not only because her hormones had gotten her hornier lately but because Trent had left her high and dry and she was feening for a release, whether she was angry with him or not.

“I’m not fucking you— you dirty whore.” she whimpers at the foul words, and how unforgiving they sounded from his lips. There was something weird going on with Ameena whilst being in this compromising position– bent over her future baby daddy’s car with his crotch pressing into her booty. As much as she hated him at this moment, she couldn't deny the spike of adrenaline in her blood ushering her to buck her hips against him. It felt extra naughty because she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath the thin crochet material and anyone could see them. Her body swelled with desire.

His fingers trail up her dress to solidify in his mind why her hips were bucking so desperately. Her pussy was crying for him but the way in which she spoke in the car didn’t reflect a woman who wanted to have her guts destroyed so he was confused, women these days..

“You’re wet….” he shames, pinching her labia to which he squeals loudly.

“Was Trent not enough for your greedy cunt, you stupid girl ” he whispers in her ear and to all the world she mewls, pressing her cheek into the trunk to cool her increasingly hot body down. She loved when he spoke to her like that in intimate situations, she could orgasm from his words alone. Oh, the way his accent twisted his words into something sinful needed to be studied.

Virgil sends an aggressive slap to her bum and they both hear the sound echoing against the empty cars in this carpark, she bites her lip to stop her from screaming.

“You’ve ruined your value, your purity in my eyes by being with another man, I was supposed to be the only man who could say they fucked this”

“But you—”

“You’re a fucking woman, you can’t keep comparing yourself to me. I’m a man. By nature, we are promiscuous”

“Like, I can’t make this shit up. Look at you… leaving the house with no panties. Who are you?” He rips fiercely at the green, thin crochet dress, ripping it high enough to reach her lower back. Now her brown, round ass was bent over and exposed for him.

“Embarrassing…” he teases, biting at her ear. He plays with the juices accumulating in her folds between the balls of his fingers.. He circles his paws around her thighs and pulls them further towards his lower body and kicks her left ankle further away from her right so her pussy is spread even perfectly and glistening in the moonlight.

He was indeed an animal, like a wolf in the presence of a full moon, all his movements were enacted with a hunter’s grace rough and to the point. She knew she was at his mercy and so went limp under his weight, no struggle would prevail. The hunt was over and now it was time to feast, but not in his conventional way.

“Two choices Ameena..” he informs, his voice had a low guttural edge as though he meant to growl as opposed to speak.

“You forgot your place again, and I’ll remind you painfully” her breasts were already hard from the feeling of the cold metallic car beneath her but they began to protrude even more, extending to its full length. Piercing the car wouldn’t be unrealistic, as his cold words descended into her body.

“Belt or hand.”

She shuffled underneath his weight, and quite frankly she didn’t know if it was discomfort or arousal. His voice had descended a few octaves, and she could feel his hardness against her hamstring.

“Virgil— this is so scary—what if someone sees me. You promised to protect me..” she whispers, her voice small through her jittery jaw.. The wind blows aggressively against her opening, and it's a feeling she can’t explain.

“The whole world has just seen you, practically naked, dancing on Trent in this skimpy, see-through, mess of a dress. This should be the least of your worries, no?” He slaps her hamstring hard. He admires his view of her ass, above the rise of her hips was a dip so graceful it looked sculpted by shadow and candlelight. It was a curve that invited a touch, reverent and slow. But today wasn’t the day for soft touching, quite the opposite instead. The arch was his personal shelf, he accepted the hint of pride he felt seeing her assume the position so effortlessly, his eyes scanned over the natural dips and curves that possessed her body before he says.

“Once more, which should I violate you with?”

Her pussy clenched, his words shooting straight to her core.

“Neither, I need you desperately, in a way this punishment wouldn’t satisfy.” Her attempt to change his mind was futile, the whisper of his belt slipping through the loops of his bottoms made her breath hitch. Virgil quickly loops the leather around his palm, making sure the buckle was tucked into his fist. He left an eye’s estimate of 3 inches out to use on her.

Virgil tuts to himself, she was waiting for heads up, silly girl, his first blow landed sharp and unapologetic. Her knees buckled almost instantly and despite her teeth digging into her plush lips, a scream still ripped from her throat.

The leather’s powerful force connected to her skin, and rang throughout the carpark. Virgil salivated at the sight of her thick ass rippling as a result, but quickly regathered his thoughts. She went against him by giving her body to another man. Her wide eyes squeezed shut tightly, nearly crushing her own small eyeballs. Ameena’s hands struggled to find something, anything to hold onto. He made it clear he didn’t want her hands anywhere near him so she held them in tight fists either side of her head.

“You wanna GO against ME and fuck-” SLAP. “other men, give my body to other men.” She would’ve fallen if his knees weight wasn’t keeping her against the car, her body flinched with every hit, everyhit was a warning drenched in fire that burned her skin. The stinging grew with every whip, she was breaking each time more and more, the car’s hood was wet but it didn’t stop him. The rhythm was jagged, so she could never anticipate the next hit, but it connected in the same spot incessantly and ripped at her skin blisters started to form on the surface of her ass. Her brown was now red, with hints of purple, but the bitter sight for him was only a reminder of her disrespect, as opposed to evoking pity.

Her screams had become straight rasps and gasps, open mouthed silence. Tears of discomfort and pain that trailed into her mouth were her only form of relief to her inflamed throat..

“Stop moaning, you did this to yourself. You like to see me mad, don’t you? Where are those hickies on your pussy you said he gave you?” he questions, slapping at her drenched pussy with his entire palm.

She rasped out incoherent words, and he lightly slapped her pussy with the belt, and she whimpered.

“N–noo, no belt there Virgil..” She was too sensitive to endure belt slaps there.

“You can’t answer my question, you want the eighth slap?” he taunts, clenching his belt at the ready if she said the wrong thing…

“I lied—so sorry.” she begs weakly, the burning sensation on her ass was taking her in and out of focus.

“Why?” he seethed, his nostrils flaring, he ran the belt down her slit pressing the tail of the belt, slightly, into her opening. He laughs as she yelps.

“Because I– I like the things you do to me w-w-when you’re mad” she stutters in hiccups, waiting to see if he’d push all the leather in.

“Mmm” he smirks, “I can tell, you’re leaking everywhere. You’ve got slick dripping down your thighs” he mumbled entranced at the sight, there was no other scenario in the world where she’d be in this position spread in his presence and he’d not slide his jigsaw piece into her puzzle, but he resisted the urge.

“You know why?”she shakes her head against the trunk tiredly.

“Because I own you, your body too. It's for me.Only. Not even Trent could get you this wet, could he?”

“Hurts so bad. It stings so badly.. Pleaseh. Promise me you’re done” she wails, swapping the cheeks she layed on the trunk with, it had become warm with her hot tears. The cool sensation on her other cheek found a way to temporarily cool parts of her body, especially the ones that had been abused for minutes upon minutes.

The eighth slap landed on her imprinted, broken skin and she finally broke. She was totally unprepared, and slipped down the car.

Her wail became earcrushing and truly shook the concrete underneath them. She weeps as she slips to the floor, her lower body numbing by the second. Virgil drops the belt at the shrill scream and hoists her up by her waist, turning her to face him, allowing her to dig her face into his chest. It’s as if this is happening in slow motion for Ameena, her ears tingle and sound slowly drains out. This feeling of dissociation only intensifies as her vision becomes hazy and her breath is shortened. He works hard at grounding her lower body to help her stand.

“No more, no more Virgil.” she chokes out desperately. “I can’t feel my legs..”she wraps her arms around his shoulders for support and blinks away her teary vision when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck. He takes the time to examine her appearance, she still looked beautiful even with all her makeup smudged and running down her face.

Virgil was never a man who went back on his word, he saw it as a weakness that the women in his life, especially, would take advantage of. When he looked into her soul and studied her face he could see the desperation for warmth, not just physical warmth but emotional warmth. She pulls back and looks up at him. His punishments had rendered her vulnerable, and so there was no point forcing the charade that she didn’t care or want him around. It had been whipped out of her. Ameena’s red, wet eyes flicker between his lip and eyes; waiting silently for confirmation that he had gotten all his anger out and that they would be okay again. He would be her protector again. Their hearts beat in tandem with each other and she could cry with how much she missed these moments in the time they spent apart. It was crazy that now she didn’t care at all that her whole lower body was exposed from the waist down or that he’d just whipped her, she didn’t care that her favourite dress was hanging off of one of her body in strings. She cared to be in her man’s embrace again.

“You didn’t answer my question” the silent moment of affection they shared losing his heart’s grip. She eyes him as if to say, ‘be so forreal’ eyes before removing her arm from around his neck replying “You know, he can’t make me as wet as you can.”

A beat.

She inhales to speak but nothing comes out.. She couldn’t seem to grasp or pinpoint a singular emotion or thought she was experiencing.

“If you want to speak, speak.” he observes as thoughts scatter across her brain like birds before a storm.

“It might make you angry, Virgil but I just really want to know.” He doesn't give her approval again, he just waits for her to catch the hint that he’s listening. His breath becomes less erratic as he watches her figure out the words to say so innocently.

“I guess I’m trying to figure out why you came here? Today. To get me? Did you just come here t-to like, eh, feed your ego…maybe?”

“How so?” He tries to hide the amusement he finds in her nervousness but can’t help but let a smile rip. He scratches his chin to cover his smile.

Her eyes sting as she finds the words to help explain where her accusation, disguised as a question, had come from.

“Virgil, this is the first time you’ve seen me in months and the first you do is manhandle and degrade me in a cold car park, like I’m a toy. It hurts because I’m supposed to be someone you love, someone you’ve sacrificed a lot for and that doesn’t show.”

He hums, understanding that she cares dearly for him and what they have it warms his heart. His palms supporting her waist close to fists and travel down the curve of her back, strumming softly against her soft, silk skin. He slid his possessive fingers between her thighs cupping her sticky heat as if he owned it, his fingers seperated and explored her folds with precision invading her honey pot. Her tired eyes follow his fingers, helpless, as they explore her most intimate area.

He brings his drenched fingers to her lips and watches as she sucks it, her eyes not leaving his. There was not an ounce of hesitation. Her neutral juices coat her tongue, and mix with the slightly salty taste of his fingers. She was turning to putty in his gaze, following every unspoken request. She mentally curses herself for being weak for dick, and for allowing herself to just comply with every order that compromised her voice. It frightened her to admit that she was becoming like the girls she’d berate and laugh about on social for being too submissive. God, life works in mysterious ways! She was only just judging those women….now look

“I know what you’re about to say Virgil and that's not fair, what my body does in your presence and how it reacts is completely out of my control and you know that. You don’t give me much choice but to succumb to your…..demands” And now that she was pregnant and her hormones were all over the place this problem would only get worse.

“What demands Ameena?” he tilts his head to the side.

A beat.

“I’m doing the best I can, don’t be a brat. How do you expect me to embrace you, or show you true affection of any kind with this shit on on your neck, it’s taking me a lot to even touch you now if I’m honest— I’m swallowing my pride. I just touched your pussy…that’s some affection,no? What else do you expect from me? You want two men in one day, is that it?”

“But don’t you miss me?” she asks exasperated, her volume rising a few notches higher with yearning and desperation.

They’re both tired by now. And Virgil, especially, needs space and time to think. He lets go of Ameena and goes to open the backdoor of his Urus. He grabs her, spins her around and lays her stomach down on the leather seats.

“You don’t think Ameena, that’s your fuc—that’s your problem Ameena. You make yourself the victim every time. Do you remember how many texts I sent you asking for us to meet, granted, you were angry because of my mistakes but even still? Now today after weeks and weeks of you ignoring me and only texting me when you want money or something, I made the decision to check your location and pop up at this shitty club unannounced to take you home.”

“Use that drunk brain of yours to figure out what that means.” And with that he slams the back door and walks around from the front of the car to get to the driver’s seat, not before Ameena tucks her knees in.

As hectic as this night has been, his hair is still neat and in this silence, where the outside world is filtered out by these steel, aluminum doors, she finally has time to take him in. The choppy beard he was growing out gave him a rough edge and should've been a warning to Ameena as to how the night would end— rough and sticky. She giggles in her head as his harsh but passionate words ring in her head, she knows exactly what they meant.

He cares about meeeee, he caress about meeeheeheee, my rich, millionaire athletic man cares about meeeeheee.

She sings, flapping her feet about like a kid, allowing herself to kick and scream for only a few milliseconds until he opens the driver’s seat. Her body sinks into the warm leather after that musical outburst. Finally, peace of mind. Her life was crazy but she didn’t mind, clearly his aggression was only a way he could express his deep love and care for her. That was adequate for now, she aimed to teach him how to love properly for their child’s sake.

Before he drives off, he takes a look at her in all her glory through the rearview mirror. What a waste of a dress, she thought to herself trying to rip the wooly threads with her fingers. The unweaving of wool made a green mess in the backseat of his car that she didn’t know what to do with.

Heat pricks to the surface of her skin with the rush of tempting thoughts. The idea that flowed to mind was beautiful, in that mischievous, forbidden way. She bites her lip, tucking some of the broken garment into the net compartment on the back of his car seat, alongside her anklet that was some semblance of herself with her initials– letter ‘A’. She hoped he wouldn’t see it, it wasn’t meant for him.

He clearly didn’t clean the backseat much because there was clutter everywhere presumably from his kids, like some small unfinished water bottles, pieces of papers with awful handwriting on them ,and some gold toffee wrappers that were sprawled all around the car’s interior. She drifted off into an effortless nap, comforted with the heat that devious action had given her. If she was ‘his’ like he had branded her one too many times, then he was her’s, but her possession would be public in the faces of the masses, known to his family most importantly. With her baby on the way, it would ensure her worst fear wouldn’t materialise. Ameena and her kid would be a priority. Two could play this possessive game.

...

Ameena wakes up when the car jolts to a stop. The quiet sound of music doing a good job at trying to lull her back to sleep. The welts on her bottom made themselves known as soon as she sat up, the nap was so good she’d forgotten the trauma her body had gone through just minutes before. Her head drops in agony. Virgil, on the other hand, with no welt is sat perfectly on his bottom. In fact, he had reclined his seat back sitting as comfortably as ever with his forearms crossed over his eyes.

“Can you pass me my purse?”

The first thing she reaches for is her phone—finally. She couldn’t help but feel alarmed at the amount of calls and texts she’d received from her sister and Tamara. Bless them, they’d both clearly been panicking, fuelling each other's anxiety and all sorts. Hopefully they hadn’t called the police! With that daunting thought she makes a group chat, naming it ‘I’m safe x’ and sends them a string of messages seeming overly jolly with no mention of Virgil to avoid getting berated by them. A weight is lifted off of her shoulders when telling her girls she was safe, she didn’t like feeling like a burden.

She looks outside for the first time properly now that her phone had woken her eyes up but she doesn’t recognise where they are, partially because it’s dark and partially because as lush as her house was… it wasn’t in the middle of a bougie high street in Piccadilly. Looking at the time she sees it's 1:58, nearly two meaning it had taken them over 45 minutes to get here. Juggling her memory she remembers that the drive from home with Tamara was only a 15 minute ride to the Mayfair club. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

She felt the urge to state the obvious, “this isn’t my house..”

A beat of silence.

“We need to talk, no? You called me the other week about the Ritz. Today seems like the best day for that, I’ll be very busy the next few weeks.” his voice scratchy with exhaustion.

‘Busy’.. A key word that tickled her fancy to debunk, he was very vague in his wording. What exactly would he be doing in the next few weeks that would mean they couldn’t spend time together?

“You’re saying… you wont have time to see me in the next few weeks? Is that what you mean by ‘very busy’?”

“Probably not.” His tone is nonchalant and she doesn’t like it. The feeling that she may have just gotten her hopes up at the chance of finally having support during her second and third trimester was excruciating.

“That's not going to cut it, I need a precise answer” he twists his torso from his seat to look back at her....up. Then down. As if to say ‘pike the fuck down’. It takes Virgil’s looks of progressive irritation for her to realise how pushy she was being, and that he wouldn’t understand where she was coming from. She didn’t want to be alone -especially- during the first few weeks of her second trimester where she’d been warned symptoms would intensify and her body would make the most changes…..but he didn’t know this. He didn’t know she was pregnant. “....Training… ..amongst other things. It’s Nila and Jadi’s birthday coming up. Those birthdays are a week apart from each other but because they aren’t twins so we're wanting to do separate big parties. They’re turning nine and twelve so I need to be there, not only to celebrate my girls but to help to plan in the weeks coming. It’s non-negotiable.”

She couldn’t argue with that, he was showing up for his kids in the way she hoped he’d show up for theirs.

“Well, if you’re not back for the 26th of February…..We’re done.” she promises, reaching over to remove Virgil’s Prada jacket hanging from the passenger's seat, wrapping it around her torso to cover her bottom half that was naked, bruised and fully exposed.

Before she did so he clamped his hands around her wrist, the grip tight but not harmful.

“What kind of man do you take me for, Mena?” His eyes followed her facial features as they morphed into some semblance of strength.

She shrugs, “I don’t know, but it’s a warning, not a threat. If you miss my birthday it’s over.”

She didn’t cower to his use of physical contact, she laid her boundaries down unapologetically. Her birthday was the most important thing to her, her parents had gone all out for her birthday all throughout her youth and it was going to stay that way and the same treatment she’d have for her own kids. Additionally, now that her mother was dead, her birthday also acted as a celebration for her mother’s strength and all that she went through to get Ameena here.

“We’re not over ‘till I say we are, stubborn little girl.” He mumbles underneath his breath turning the engine off.

They make their way to the hotel reception and a simple nod from Virgil was all the verification the male receptionist, Anthony, needed before the pair hand in hand made their way to the top floor, where a beautiful suite Virgil had insisted on having was waiting. He requested for the most isolated suite they had, private with nothing less of a breathtaking view and these workers fulfilled this demand. It made her gasp, seeing the view of her city...London as they travelled up the lift. It was so beautiful at night, so peaceful, just a complete juxtaposition of the havoc and pollution that came about at midday. The sky was clear, free of clouds, allowing the stars to twinkle down on them.

Whilst they made their way Ameena’s thoughts were racing frantically, as nice of a gesture this was it seemed Virgil was adamant for this conversation to be had. There was no doubt in her mind, he’d drill it out of her–the reason she’d called him some weeks back with a wavering voice. She wasn’t completely naive, it was going to be a difficult conversation to have and a tough pill to swallow for Virgil —especially after the ordeal with Trent but all she had to be was apologetic. She prayed to God silently for a smooth sailing conversation that wouldn’t ruin her experience here.

The wave of superiority Ameena felt once entering the room was fulfilling. The room was lush and completely swept Ameena off of her feet, whilst Virgil played it cool. He’d probably been here with many other women, she can’t help but grimace.

“Is this where you bring your prostitutes for your threesomes?”she genuinely asks, whilst walking around the suite touching things, and smelling things. The room service menu caught her eye and she immediately ran to it, she was starving.

“Yes, I’ve brought you here haven’t I? She gasps, dropping the menu and runs to smack his back whilst he just laughs.

They were high above the quiet city, the top-floor suite suspended in luxury. Through the tall balcony windows stretched from floor to ceiling draped in sheer linen curtains that had been pulled back, was a blur of lights and motions from cars, silhouettes and infrequent planes sounding by, but other than that silence. The emerald velvet seats were cool to the touch, and added a splash of color to the mainly white and silver accented interior, it was very satisfying to the human eye. It was the kind of space where time slowed and every detail from the whisper of silk bed sheets that bounced off the bright lights overhead to the slow jazz that played through the hidden speaker spoke of wealth and taste. Everything they wanted for their future.

Virgil yawns, removing his black Prada shirt and kicking off his shoes, placing them side by side on the end of the bed and then disappears to the bathroom briefly. At that time, Ameena strips off what is left of her green dress, chucking it to the floor lazily leaving her naked in the remaining of her jewelry.

“Robe” she utters absentmindedly to herself checking in the wardrobes for them. To her surprise they weren’t in there and so she checked in the bathroom. To her luck, she finds them folded on a heated metallic radiator and puts one on with haste to savour the warm feeling, ignoring the stares she sees through the mirror from Virgil who has just finished peeing. The rumbling toilet was a tell tale sign.

“I’m going to wash my hands, then I’m going to rub your welts with some ointments.”

“Is it frag–?”

“No, I asked them for an unfragranced only— it’s on the glass table near the wardrobe if you want to check.”

Good boy, she jokes in her head, or out loud judging by the look of disgust on his face.

“Take the robe off, lay with your ass up on that bed ready for me and you be a good girl” The flirtatious edge to his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

She scurries off to the bed, allowing the cotton robe to slip down her body and hit the floor. The feeling of silk cools her skin encouraging her body to relax and to sink into the mattress with not a care in the world if her body was not yet cleaned; she deserved rest and the distant jazz music was doing a good job in providing it.

The bowlegged man returns to the room silently; she couldn’t see him but she could feel his presence start to loosen her body. The micro hairs on the back of her neck stood like soldiers awaiting his touch. He slowly crouches onto the bed and straddles her legs warming the lotion in his calloused hands to prepare. He plants a kiss on the wound, and warmed by this Ameena mutters a small ‘thank you’ readjusting herself in between his legs.

“Do you feel bad?” her question pierces through the silence between them. Through her peripheral she sees him shake his head, his brows furrowed in concentration.

There's a beat before he returns a question.

“Are you sorry? For forcing me to see the things he’s done to your body?”

She craned her neck over her shoulder to observe him.

“Yes. And I’ve paid the price for it so I don’t want you to hold it over my head anymore ok? We both fucked up..”

He doesn’t answer, instead just continues to rub his rough palms over her welts that were protruding from her skin’s surface. She whimpers softly, pushing her face into the mattress.

“Still hurts, mein kindje?” she nods her head. He kisses the spot again, climbing off of her and sitting on the edge of the bed. She slowly shifts robotically to lie on her stomach tucking her legs into premade bedsheets.

“No other man should touch you again or the consequences—just take my word for it, please. I don’t want to warn you again”

She listened intently because his eyes weren’t lying. She held his sharp, hard glare but swallowed some bravery before interjecting.

“Then you’re also mine right?” she treads carefully, bowing her head to his eye level.

His eyes narrow, “Where are you going with this?”

“I obviously know your….situation but when you’re with me you’re mine right? Just like I’m yours—”

He nods. “Good.”

He knows there’s more that she’s hesitant to say, so he clears his throat.

“You ring, I don’t—I've been thinking about this for so long. It just doesn’t feel right too see it and feel it when we’re intimate, it’s almost like you’re advertising that you’re married with that ring. I don’t…want to see…it. It also just makes me think of her—your wife and it takes me out of our moment.”

“I felt it when you were massaging my wounds and I have been keeping my feelings in for so long now but I don’t like it —I hate it when you wear it around me. Because it means nothing to you, clearly.”

He gets up and stretches his torso out, a yawn rips from his mouth. Her eyes instinctively drop down to his happy trail and they stay there for a second before darting back up to his eyes with a heavy gaze. There was an uncomfortable suspense eating at her pulse.

He strides towards the emerald, velvet chair where she had placed his jacket and shoots back…

“Think carefully before you make a command like that again. Before you end up with more bruises.”

She was astonished so much that her mouth dropped. Had her genuine question really struck a nerve for him to threaten her again? She felt mute in her own relationship, like she couldn’t express her deepest desires.

“Then I’m not yours. I couldn’t possibly be because you’re someone else—”

“Drop it Ameena.” And then the lights go down.

He sinks into the chair in the corner of the room and fades into a neutral state of mind. He didn’t have the energy to entertain that question, it was unbelievably close to home. The truth of the matter was that his and Rike’s relationship had been on the rocks as of lately, bad. She’d filed for a divorce reasoning it as desertion, claiming he’d abandoned her and Ameena asking that question made his situation feel all too real. Ameena was always his point of escape and he loved it with her, but when both of his life's start to collide that's where the problem lies. He wants them separate and Ameena constantly questioning about his other life was far too exposing.

It hurt to see her hugging the bed sheets alone from the other side of the room, but he found her disgusting; he couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as her. That was a riveting thought to sleep through, that one mistake she’d made had completely changed her value in his eyes. He disregarded her honesty and transparency as valuable traits and was more concerned with her body’s value. Her body was only temporary flesh, why didn’t her morals matter to him. Her heart ached, falling asleep was the only way to escape the ache. So she drifted off slowly allowing the jazz to take her there.

An hour later.

Virgil stares into space wide-eyed, a volcanic eruption behind his still eyes. He couldn’t catch even a wink of sleep. He spent the past hour slouched on the green velvet chair on the far end of the hotel room, manspreading. As upset and betrayed as he felt, he made a point to keep this hurt to himself, not wanting to take the full extent of this anger out on Ameena.

It wouldn’t be fair to direct all of the betrayal he’d been bruised with in his personal life as of recent on the woman he loved most (aside from his little girls). There were numerous culprits: Trent who didn’t understand the capacity of his actions, not only with fucking Ameena (which hurt the most) but with leaving their club and in return their longterm brotherhood, his wife for her attempt to take full custody the kids he financially took care of and Ameena for burning his mouth with the taste of his own medicine. In his silence he was understanding why being a man was the most prestigious title one could acquire, it was because he was forced to keep in all these debilitating emotions bottled up whilst keeping a clean sheet as a provider, as a father to young girls who saw him as a hero and as a captain. Now, that, was the toughest job. All he really wanted to do was lay his head on the lap of his mother or Ameena or his daughters’ and have them stroke his hair until he forgot all these problems. But, no. He was in silence, wearing his silence as armor, not because he wasn’t hurting enough but because feeling out loud, as rich as he was, was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He wore shock on his face when Ameena's voice croaked out from the darkness. Abruptly breaking through the 50 minutes of Virgil’s streaming thoughts. Were his thoughts that loud that he had woken the woman up?

“I really do hate you Virgil.” the weak voice from the darkness said as she uncomfortably shifts on the bed. She reaches over to her bedside table, turning on her stomach to rub more ointment on her bottom to soothe the stinging sensation.

(She hadn’t been spanked like that since she was maybe 3, and she definitely hadn’t been spanked that many times in the same area. Pure embarrassment was her current state of being, she was going on 23 still being treated like a toddler).

Unfortunately for her, her words weren't going to push him away, the word ‘hate’ had become desensitized in their relationship and he had to admit it was partly his fault, so he was going to let it pass…For now.

A click sounds in the darkness, followed by the bedside lamp closest to Ameena illuminating her side of the room. She looked like a princess with her hair sprawled out all over the crisp pillows, her torso tucked into the sheet to perfection leaving nothing out but her slender arms that fit his like gloves. She wipes sleep from her eyes looking over to him, their eyes met for a split second before Virgil reverted his gaze back to the darkness he’d found solace in before. He feared the light would expose his worries.

“D’you hear me?” she speaks up again. He simply nodded, not sparing her a glance. He felt if they locked eyes he may interpret her words as earnest and that would end him.

“It’s so hard to look at you—let alone touch you, you know.”, her voice breaks and Virgil blinks rapidly, fighting his urge to run to her side, enveloping her in his tattooed arms.

“You really hurt me—you will never understand. And it’s so fucking annoying because as much as you hurt me, you still have something about you that compels me to— for fucks sake— like even after telling Amaya and Tamara how much I hate you and never want to see you again ‘m here with you in a hotel…naked and for what...”she sobs painfully.

“I wish I could make you feel the way you make me feel sometimes.”

“—I-I just remember the feeling of hearing them…Virgil on the phone”

Virgil’s eyes flicker to her belongings on the floor at the foot of the bed, his bottom lip flips. Their breaths became the only clock ticking in the room. Each rise and fall of their chests were their souls attempting to reconcile but failing, an inhale a secret and an exhale a confession that neither dared to say out loud. He didn’t know what to say—this was the first time in his life he recalled not having a solution.

Virgil sits up, his voice raw as he replies, “You’ve gotten your revenge now with my brother.”

Her mouth flies open, ‘brother’.

“Brother my ass, jeez Virgil—any excuse to refer to me as a whore and you will.” she chortles bitterly.

“You did it first.”

“And that makes it okay to fuck my brother?….The audacity to try ruin a friendship that started way before you” His face tightened like a fist, and his eyes burned cold towards her side of the room, but she felt hot ready to burn back, to scold him.

His response was quick but silence prolonged hers. She’s guilty, Virgil thought.

Unbeknownst to him, her silence was the kind of silence made before breaking.

“You’re the last one to talk about audacity. Like you didn’t have the audacity to choke me and leave me on the floor crying, after purposefully getting me—trying to get me pregnant. You’re the fucking monster don’t try make me out as one, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your little ego by getting with Trent but that doesn’t even compare to the shit you’ve put me through. You were so bad!! Oh-oh-oh Virgil, you were so insensitive about my abortion that day and you still haven’t apologised for how that made me feel, you called me murderer.”

“Keep your fucking voice down.” he grits.

“No! You have no more power over me.”

Her nap had seemingly restored some common sense into her, after her punishment she felt silenced. She wanted to get into his good books because he was asserting dominance she’d never experienced before. It was second nature to cower down to him but that wore off. Ameena felt the need to let him know that how he’d been treating her just for keeping the same energy as him wasn’t okay. She was enraged.

Breath …she instructed herself, the baby…

“I didn’t fuck him either, unlike yourself, you’ve had sex with two women since we’ve been together ONLY GOD knows how many more that me and Rike don’t know about.” His body shivers at the mention of his wife, she was doing it again– provoking him.

“ I’ve apologized, I’m not doing it again..” he let out a long breath and his palms press roughly onto his eyebrows, for a second she thought he was crying. His face reddened as seconds past.

“For what offence? For choking me with your dick, or for calling me a murderer? Or for cheating on me? Or for fucking me for three years just to ruin my life…Fucking look at my skin Virgil!! Look at it, you’re breaking me out, my eyes have never been this red in all my 22 years of life, not even with my parents.”

You’re still perfect in my eyes, he thinks to himself. It was gut-wrenching to hear that all the things she was struggling with in her personal life was because of him.

Silence invades the room again, he gets up and with every move he makes he’s intently being watched by Ameena. Not even his blinks escape her obsessive gaze. He buttons up his jeans. Her world stills when he grabs his phone from beside her on her nightstand. He wasn’t going to leave on her watch. She sits up at the speed of lightning and reaches instinctively for his wrist, keeping it in place on the stand. Now he would know how it felt to be dragged out of the club.

“Where on earth are you going? I haven’t finished talking to you. Sit down”

“You’re not talking to me, little girl, you’re violating my character. If I’m such a monster, and if all those things I’ve done and have already apologized for truly make you hate me still then…”

“Then what?” she clings onto his every move, every story told in his eyes, every emotion playing out in his eyebrows. The world finally halts. She thought it stopped moving when her parents died or when she had her abortion but it was in this moment she truly felt the stars that scattered the night sky dim, sounds from outside and the cars in the distance drain out. Only the moment between them remained alive, too alive for her liking, holding them in its tight grip.

“Then this.” Ameena doesn’t miss the movement from his Adam's apple, something tells her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

He motions between them both with his head. “Is done, forever.”

She maintains his gaze, wide-eyed like a baby. At a loss for words and like protocol her eyes glaze over. He can never look at her when she got like that, during sex sure, but with the gut wrenching stuff he became a wuss. He walks away, snatching free from her grip.

She mutter a small ‘ow’

“I swear.”

“Now I’m going to ask you for the last and final time, is what I’ve done unforgivable?” Her eyes never once left his person, in a state of bewilderment she shakes her head. Her mouth agape. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the concept of not having Virgil in her life forever, especially because of the reality of having his baby in her stomach. It made that concept feel unbearable.

No.

Never.

She wasn’t going to do life without him, especially not whilst pregnant, she needed him. She’d spent hours talking to her sister about the crippling fear that would play hide and go seek in her subconscious everyday, her baby being fatherless. It’s in her hands now to prevent that, and she’d do everything in her power to.

She shakes her head, violently.

“Use your words, I hate it when you don’t.” he jabs with a piercing look

“No” she whispers, as if it was such an obvious answer to the question he had dared to ask her.

“No, what?” he fishes “No it’s not unforgivable Virgil” her voice was small and hoarse. She wiped her face, waiting.

Can everything go back to normal now? She winced internally she couldn’t bear the anticipation she felt like she needed a remote in her life to press fast forward.

A slight nod from Virgil peaks her interest.

“Do you understand what that means, stout meisje?” He delivers, slow, low and controlled.

She starts to shake her head and then vocalises her answers when he starts stepping towards her.

“No, what does it mean Virgil?”

“It means you’ve had your chance to fuck about but now it's mine. You are mine. I don't want to hear you use that ‘hate’ word, it’s disgusting and it doesn’t sound good coming from your mouth. No more trying to be a big girl, I decide what happens next from here on out. I'm the leader in this relationship. Is that understood?”

She nods her head yes. He leans down in front of her, his fists planting into the mattress near her tucked legs.

“That means no defying me when I ask you to do something, Ameena.” he grits out.

She bites her lip, hard. “Yes Virgil.” He was being deadly serious but the thoughts in her mind weren’t. He was stone cold but that only set ablaze the fire in her heart for the only man who she’d let control her. At that moment, she doesn’t entirely know what she’s signed up for, but nobody would blame her; her hormones were all over the place. What this conversation meant to her was that the happiness of their baby and consequently hers was secured.

“Good girl.” he mumbles to himself.

Ameena’s brows cock up. He goes back to sit on the velvet chair and the space between them deflates the tension in the room. Virgil is deep in thought again and Ameena is only just watching him.

Whew, she felt beads of sweat underneath her book, and in her pits. She sat in silence, most of the thing she wanted to get off of her chest she had, it was now all him. He did say he was the leader now.

“Since meeting you, those were the only two women I’ve fucked. I wouldn’t lie. I hope that puts your little mind at rest.”

“Before you ask why, I just used their bodies to take my mind off of you. Simple. They were disposable pussy, like most woman but you are to me”

The look on Ameena's face is one of disbelief. “Ok. Have you slept with Rike since meeting me?”

He side-eyes Ameena, “You ask questions that get you hurt, why?”

“So that’s a yes, just say yes, why answer my question with a question.”

“Yes, I fuck her.” Fuck? Present tense…wow.

Ameena can’t help but to cry, not of sadness because she is well aware of what she got herself into, but of embarrassment.

“But I don’t remember the last time I’ve kissed her, or celebrated a Valentines with or a birthday. Nothing of substance.” She hiccups, and listens intently.

“But you, on the other hand, get 5 star hotels every other week, everything you were wearing today was a present, no? Weekly allowances, unlimited sex, I kiss you everywhere don’t I? Your cars…”

If Ameena was a few shades lighter, she’d be blushing but instead her stomach does somersaults and she looks down.

“Don’t hide that smile, come here..” He pats his outstretched lap and she gets up instantly, they both laugh at how submissive she now is. “But I don’t want you to fuck her, not anymore. Because you're mine just as much as I’m yours” she draws on lazily as the crisp sheets fall from her hourglass silhouette that Virgil couldn't help but to stare at. His stare pinned her in place and moved over her like a fire in slow motion, a raw hunger for destruction. His eyes didn’t just look over her but they claimed her. He enjoyed as her thighs jiggled with every step she took towards him, her breasts looked—big, bigger and her areolas bigger too than the last time he saw them..maybe she was just very cold. They sat up as if they were being supported by her belly… her belly. He stopped analysing too much before she became self conscious, but in the dimly lit room the shadows casted over her belly as she walked past the small light revealed a small bump that ended at her lower abdomen. Was it bloating… or was it what he’d been expecting since the day he last saw her.

She kneels on his lap, sitting any other way would be too vulgar considering she was fully naked. He keeps his arms on his laps, which was odd to her; she was expecting a warm embrace. It felt unnatural to just sit there without touching. She tried to move his arms but they stiffened in place, a whine erupts from her as she searches his face with confusion written on hers.

“What's wrong with–?” she catches his eyes flickering from her neck back to her mouth. Her shoulders start to heave for the upteenth time today.

“Vee, I’m so sorry. I know you think I’m disgusting, but I’m not I swear, it was a moment of weakness.I- I can go and shower really quickly. Oh God, please don’t treat me like a whore. Virgill, hug me, do something!” she rambles hysterically.

He wondered if she’d downed a couple of drinks at the club. Maybe that would explain to him the ease at which she’d been falling asleep and all the emotional stuff. He can’t help but laugh at her theatrics, it didn’t help that she also had such an awkward crying face. His knuckles stroke her neck gently, “it’s hard to look at what he’s done to you that’s all”

“Were you drunk, is that why you let him?” “I didn’t drink. I haven’t drank in ages, only Tamara did and Joe, I think.”

“Oh, so it was your sober mind, no liquid courage?” she sniffles and her shoulders jolt in tandem with them.

“Stop crying.. What’s done is done.” he looks down, his lip bottom lip between his teeth as he squeezes her thick thighs playfully as they’re spread in front of him, no one else’s compared to hers. Not even the Swedish whores he found himself in.

He was going to take advantage of her emotional state to probe about her past few months, his conscience told him there were bigger issues than what met his eye.

“You got thicker?” he questions, and her mind freezes for a second. “Ye–no. I don’t think so. Have I? Do I look bad? I can lose–”

What has gotten into this woman? Before, she would’ve answered with a grinny ‘yes’ followed by a ‘so what?’ as sassy as she was but now she sounded…dare he say insecure? Maybe she was nervous as they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

His eyes flicker to her full breasts, which bounce free with every movement she makes. They’re so close to him he can practically smell the familiar sweet scent of milk (courtesy of his wife and their 3 babies) or maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. Wish fulfillment they called it. A smirk rides his lips and he goes to squeeze them hard, his tongue swiping over his top lip suspiciously. She screams, loudly. He continues to pinch her nipples, holding her back still with his left hand so that she doesn’t run from his….experiment. He places his nose in between her cleavage and places a few kisses there, planting them right on top of her crucifix tattoo.

Extra sensitive, he noted. Her tits usually weren’t where she was most sensitive, it was her collarbone, clit and occasionally the small of her back. What are the odds? he thought…

“Why are you playing with me so roughly? Are you still mad at me?” her chest rose and fell rapidly and her hands found his shoulders, squeezing onto them. Although she does feel mildly scared, she admires his striking face dripping with admiration, she missed him so much. His suave, how sexy he was, his quiet but sure dominance. His stare back mirrored the same feeling of relief to finally be in each other’s arms. Meekly, Ameena leans into the crook of his neck and sniffs the area, his cologne now a faint smell. It was such a comfortable position to be sat in for both of them, Ameena was on his lap with her face in his neck, and although he couldn’t see her sweet face he still had the perfect sight of her wham ass so he was fine.

Before his hands go to knead her ass, shemoves from sitting on her shins to straddling him, dangling her legs over each side of his lap with no care in the world for anything. She bucks her hips into him… his eyebrows shoot up. This was the behavior of a very horny girl. That's how blatant her behavior was.

“Is someone excited?”

“Just wanna get comfortable” she mumbles, her soft voice vibrating on his skin. “You—w-wouldn’t fuck me anyways because you think I’m… you think I’m dirty.”

A beat.

Another beat.

After the third beat of silence, Virgil announces what has been lurking in his mind throughout their interactions in the chair. “....Are you pregnant, Ameena?......”

Her body stiffens around him and a sense of knowing consumes him. He rubs her back as warmth fills the depths of his belly. “Why?”

“ I’ve been observing you, I know your body almost better than you know it. Am I not your first?” “I also filled you up with my seeds the last night we spent together, you remember” She shivers.

She lifts up and avoids his eyes. Ameena swallows hard before whispering, ‘I don’t want to cry again..”

His heart squeezes, he rubs his nose against her nose, lovingly so she could feel support from him in some way. He couldn’t kiss her, not tonight everything was still so fresh.

She nods, “I found out a week before the phone call… that's why it broke me so much its why I’m so mad at you—because I thought that was it for us and for the family we could have. The thoughts crossing my mind were scary, I thought that I kept the baby all for it to not have a dad because he had ‘moved on’ with those women”.

“Impossible.”

“Please don’t lose me Virgil, I can’t bear the thought of raising it without you.” He strokes her skin harder, enlivened with the thought of Ameena becoming heavily pregnant and in turn becoming the mother of his kid, like he always saw her to be. There were many questions needing to be asked and answered but they both held back for the sake of the moment. It was a big deal, a baby. A family finally.

“I’ll never lose you….well you’re stuck with me now, aren’t you? Forever eva eva” he sings in her ear, referring to a timeless Chris Brown hit. “Forever” 2012.

She laughs, shyy.

A beat.

Her laughs, become giggles and then her thoughts bring her to silence.

“I, I hate that you won’t kiss me in this moment of all moments too….” She grabs his bun and pushes his face closer to hers, to which he swiftly jolts his neck away. Her hands move down to fist his top, pulling him towards her body. She sticks her tongue out to lick on his face, neck, lip anywhere. She was craving his affection.

“Ameena…” he warns.

She whines and tries to jump off of him but he holds her in place, he didn’t want their proxemics to be over, it had been ages. He was a happy man,but couldn’t show it in the way she wanted (through physical affection) for the simple fact that the evidence of another man was on her body.

Virgil clears his throat, thinking carefully about the words he was about to say to her, aware of the emotional state his woman was in.

“But Ameena, as happy as I am about this, it’s a dangerous thing you did sleeping with another man with my seed in you.” he grips the back of her neck, not too tight but tight enough for her to acknowledge his sincerity.

“Very, very dangerous. You know how angry that makes me? I want to throw something, murder someone. Just for you—because of you.”he draws in a rattled breath. Her eyes glaze over with shame, she tries to speak…

“I didn’t have sex with him, I swear, on my womb.” “We kissed, and I grinded… on his dick and–and I wasn’t wearing any underwear so he tried to finger me— and he touched my pussy but he never entered me. I swear”

Virgil mouths form a sharp line, and his dark lashes hide the storm in his eyes. He taps her thigh and she gets up, he does too. Irritated. He scratches his head erratically walking across the room.. She sits back down, dumbfounded and uses her arms to cover her genitals.

“Fuck man—are you that easy?” he blurts out but the look on Ameena’s face causes him to immediately regret his words, her lower lip trembling as she registers his words.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that princess, I meant…. Trent not you.”.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Virgil didn’t speak. He barely trusted himself, he knew how sneaky and deceptive he was at her age, so how could he expect her not to be the same. She was a spoiled 22 year old at that.

“Do you believe me?” she pleaded.

“Baby…?” She was tired of crying, and just sank into the seat. She just wanted him to forget but that was a big ask, especially for a man as possessive as Virgil. He stops in his tracks (from pacing about) and scans the gorgeous girl, he sees how obedient she was for him and how attentive she was. Her eyes, although tired, admired him and twinkled for him. This was a sight he’d prayed for for ages, but still there was something he needed… that he didn’t know how to articulate.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes,

“Let me feel it.. baby. Then I’ll believe it.”

Ameena’s mouth dropped and she looked down at her body and back at him. “I- I don’t quite understand.” She hoped he wasn’t thinking to…to test out her tight she was, that would be absurd right?

“Let me feel your pussy, if I’m the only one that’s been in it then I’ll know.”

“You want to finger me, to feel how…tight…..Virgil, what is wrong with you?” her voice starts to waver and she now pulls his Prada jacket hung over the back of the chair over her body.

“I’m going to need to fuck you baby, finger aren’t enough.”

What?

She wanted the velvet chair to swallow her whole, and she’d be damen if it didn’t. She was firstly extremely embarrassed that he was inadvertently calling her loose to her face. Secondly, she had just announced her pregnancy to the man she loved, to the man who’s seed she was carrying and to think he was comfortable disrespecting the body she was growing his seed in was beyond her. Was he ever going to change? This obsession she had started to notice he had with controlling her body was coming suffocating and alienating, she had learned to completely disconnect her mind and body sometimes because of it. There’d be times, like earlier today where he’d carry out actions she didn’t want mentally but her body craved for and this was the exact same situation. He was currently punishing her because he was purposefully not embracing her with even a modicum of affection all day… and this… was the first intimate interaction they’d be partaking in for a while. But it wasn’t going to feel like the other times, this was going to feel artificial. She didn’t want that. But her body did, her body levitated at the reintroduction of sex, finally.

There was an undeniable force that brought their bodies together, always, even during hardship.

“Get on that bed” he insists, stripping out of his trousers. She flinches as the heavy material hits the ground with a thud, his keys and phone still deep in the pocket. He leaves himself standing in the middle of the room hawking at her. Standing rather intimidatingly in his black calvin kelis that were struggling to contain his growing cock. She felt like a victim under his alluring gaze, she wanted him to kiss her belly and rub all over her body and tell her how proud he was of her but no he was going to test her out, and ‘feel’ her.

“...I—V–Virgil, this is so inhumane. I’m carrying your baby and you want to test my pussy, to see if anyone has -what- stretched it out?”

He nods, as if there’s no problem in the world with his requisite.

“We both fucked up, I kissed a man i should and you fucked women you shouldn’t. You really must take my word for it, trust me, this is the only way this relationship will work, if you take my word for things. I didn’t have sex with him. I swear to God.”

“If you don’t want to move, I’ll fuck you on that chair.” he offers, taking small but sure steps towards her direction. His sultry, vulgar words changed the air in the room. A flush crept up her neck before she could stop it, her body was betraying her again. She was a puppet and he, the mastermind. The familiar sense of heat curled low in her stomach and her nipples stiffened. It was like every word was delicately picked to strike a nerve, hitch her breath.

Desire burned behind his eyes, as he stalked forward closing the distance between them slowly but surely, the pulse he could hear beating against her ears didn’t stop him, if anything it riled him like a horse being whipped. He closes the distance with one more stride and lowers to his knees. He disregards his jacket from her body, and takes both of her legs in his hand, spreading them far apart to hang off either end of the chair’s arms. There was no ounce of her core left to seek, everything he wanted was on display for him.

She whines, the vulnerability of the exposure gives her chills. She feels weak from his lips’ heat on her most sensitive area.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers, smooth like silk. His lip trailing from her inner thighs down to her left foot, where he bites her heels.

“Not fair, you know I can’t`’ she whispers back between laboured breaths.

“You’re driving me insane, Meme, I still want to devour every part of you why`/. No other woman can make me go against my morals. But you” he murmurs against her skin.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

He leans forwards and slides his arms around her waist pulling her to the edge of the seat. He inches towards her wet, sweet core and her core and his lips share a breath only a hair strand away from each other. Her sweetness invades his lungs and darken the thoughts behind his eyes. As if the windows to his soul weren’t already onyx with want. He secures his arms under her thighs again because he knew she was a runner, and takes her pulsing clit into his mouth, sucking with all the pressure his tongue could muster. Virgil wanted to suck her sensations away so that no other man could make her feel a thing again, not after he was done. He nibbled, and pulled the skin around that muscle with his lip, pinching her thighs as she tried to wither her way out of his mouth.

His pace increases sucking faster and faster humming to stimulate her clit even further, she squeals. Immediately, her hands find his soft hair threading her fingers through the roots, gently buckling her hips against his lips. The hairs on his chin scratch against her slit and the desire in her spreads. She whines loudly, locking eyes with him silently pleading for more.

“Stop whining, tell me what you want?”

“Fuck me with your tongue.” he obeys his order, watching as her stomach tensed inwards when his tongue moves from her clit to explore her folds. Her slit contracts and relaxes to appease the throbbing she felt whilst desperately waiting. He teasingly licks streaks up and down her sex, lubricating his tongue with her moisture until his tongue finds moist slit. Frantic, her hips buck uncontrollable she thrusts herself onto his tongue, too desperate to wait for him to initiate. His tongue dances spontaneously in and out of her, the taste of her sweet nectar exciting him to curl his sharp tongue inside of her to taste more. The flick of his tongue was skillful; the increasingly aggressive pulls to his hair weren’t a bother because he understood how good it would’ve felt, she was delicious and so were the moans to his ears. Her body was going into sensory overload becoming overstimulated with every slurp, slap of the thigh in addition to the pornographic moans from her mouth. Her muscles all over her body begin tensing and her breath hitches in her throat when she feels an electrical current unravelling from within her. She swirls her forefingers against her engorged clit flexibly as the release comes crashing down in waves, first taking her legs, then stiffening her arms and neck. Sounds of slurping fade out, and Virgil looks dreams away. She has no choice but to surrender to the omnipotent waves, falling limp and tired on the chair.

“Look at what you’ve done to my face, splashy.” He slapped her wet pussy.

She couldn't reply even if she wanted to, her brain was tired and her head was slouched on the head of the chair.

His mouth rewaters as her wetness leaked in a trail past her second hole and darkened the emerald beneath them. He carries her up from the chair and throws her lightly on the bed. She falls with a light yelp, and shuffles up to the headboard as he pulls his dick out of his boxer’s fly.

He beckons to her with his index and middle fingers to move closer to the foot of the bed, a disappointed pout on his lips.

“Be careful, you don’t want me to get over there mein speeltje, you’ll have nowhere to run, little trackstar” he says with a menacing smile.

AMEENA’S POV.

“Let’s see if you were true to daddy, c’mere” he grunts, suffocating his cock with fast, tight beatings. I watched him jerk his hands back and forth until he came in his hands, it was an eerily beautiful sight. To see how his chest rose and fell rapidly sent flutters to my aching core and the low grunts falling from his lips damn near sent me into my second orgasm. But I knew I was in for some shit, he only ever did that to delay his next orgasm.

He knew just how to bring the whore out of me, without being asked I crawl over, taking his large palm into my hands and suck his ropes of warm and sticky come off of his skin, paying no mind to the hard dick that stood intimidatingly less than 3 centimetres from my face. I don’t take my eyes off of his as I swallow my kids.

“Good girl” he mutters under his breath, kissing my forehead.

“Now lay on your back for me..” he growls to me, holding himself back from manhandling me as my big doe eyes lusted for more validation after leaving his hands spotless.

I do as I’m told, laying on my black and he pins my legs behind my head, letting his spit trail down my drenched pussy. He runs his oozing tip down my slit, pressing into it playfully so that only a third of his tip entered at a time only to be pulled out as soon as my muscles contracted around him.

I scream out with pure desperation.

“Just find out already, feel how tight I am for you already” my needy hands find my full breasts and pinch, twist and pull them between the balls of my fingers.

THIRD PERSON

Her words hypnotise his hips. They buck forward, fully inserting himself in her. Helpless, she lets out a guttural moan when seeing how her hole swallowed the entirety of his hard dick, taking on this wide circumference. She missed his dick, she felt high off of it. He sucks in harsh breaths when feeling her pussy contract tightly, almost spazzing around his cock, it was a fight to thrust himself in and out of its captivating grip but he was determined. He was adamant on ruining his tight dungeon, fucking her like an enemy to see how long she could go. He was thrilled to see her eyes get lost behind her head, and her teeth clenched, not an ounce of silence lingers in the air. Her pussy is just as loud as her. He pressed her legs further down into the mattress above her head, which in turn tilted her hips upward giving him leverage to go deeper. Virgil was chasing the feeling of her cervix, he wanted to bruise it and make a mark on her insides.

His thrusts create ripples in her breasts and he salivates watching them bounce up and down, he can’t help but lean down and pop them in his mouth one by one. He couldn’t wait until he started to taste milk from them. He mentally promised to suck on them everyday until he could taste just a drop of her milk. Tears of pleasure flood her eyes because he doesn’t stop hitting her spot thrust after thrust. It was good they were on the top floor, otherwise they’d probably be banned.

His breathing becomes jagged and his hips stiffen after one more thrust, and at the same time the knot in her core unravels and Ameena’s legs shake uncontrollably. Her legs straighten in the air as the biggest wave of pleasure sears through her being, leaving her in a whimpering mess. She screams leaning into Virgil as their bodies sloppily bumped and grinded against each other at record pace. Their breaths were in time with each other, the lustful fire that resided in both their eyes riling each other to ride their respective orgasms.

He lowers himself further down, going to plant a kiss on her lips. Before he can, she smiles cockily “Look at you now, swallowing your own words, who’s not tight anymore? You’re at my mercy.” The beads of sweat on his face told him everything she needed to know, his face was red, a testament to how worn out he was.

There’s no rebuttal; instead he just drools into her mouth, and she invites it, letting his dna trickle down her throat. His pace slows significantly and she begins to queef,as her liquids splutter around his cock— he enters her and then completely pulls out— becoming weaker and weaker with each thrust. He releases one last grunt before pulling out completely and slapping at her cum filled pussy with his dick. Both their liquids dripped out of her opening, it was a sight to see.

Their panting drowns out the jazz in the room, and threatens to wake all London up, she coats her fingers with their mixed juices spilling out and fingers the liquid deeper into her core, wanting to feel completely stuffed. He drops to the bed, his sweaty body landing next to hers, and their legs tangled together.

She touches his ring finger with a small shake of her head, “your lover won’t be happy after this will she?”

He sighs deeply, pulling her body into his.

.........

(these versions will be free of mistakes once they make their way to wattpad.)

enjoy, thoughts??

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jimmybutlrr · 2 months ago

Text

I love the way you have these out fast but hate the way there’s always a cliff hanger.

The Missing Piece. (Part Five)

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

Wc: 3k

A/n: I apologize in advance for this lmaoo. Enjoy?

“I was going to-”

The man before her closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale. She immediately knows he’s trying to get his anger under control so she snaps her mouth shut. They’re still in the same position, it feels like moving will set him off— like a 6’5 landmine. But the tension is too thick, and her body is still strung high on sexual frustration.

“Please don’t be angry at me. I didn’t try to hide it on purpose, I just didn’t get the chance to tell you.” Her voice is a meek whisper.

He shifts beneath her body and Niamh panics when she feels him withdrawing his fingers.

“No, no! Please don’t stop- it didn’t hurt that badly, it just caught me by surprise.”

“Niamh, I can-”

“Please don’t sto- need to come. It hurts.”

She whimpers softly. It’s true; the pulsing between her legs is bordering an achy feeling.

“For fuck’s sake, Niamh.”

He says her name like a bitter curse, but he steadily eases his middle finger inside her. Just one, very slowly. It feels… different but somehow satisfying. Like her body knows this is something she needed before her brain has time to properly process what’s happening.

“Oh.” It’s a soft little sound that escapes her lips. He slides his finger back and forth easily.

“Good?” The deep rumble of his voice makes her clench around the finger inside.

“Uh huh.” She wants to hide her face at the sound of her audible wetness. She’s absolutely soaked from a little kissing and grinding.

Virgil continues to move his finger inside. He’s meticulous with his movements as he prods and gently pokes. Almost as if he’s searching for somethin-

“Oh!” Niamh moans in pleasurable surprise. Her body tries to jerk away from his hand as he keeps toying with something deep inside her that almost makes her light headed.

“Virgil? Wha- it’s-”

He shushes her gently while pulling his middle finger all the way out. Niamh holds her breath when she feels another finger joining it.

“Relax.” He encourages softly.

She takes a deep breath just as he starts to slide them both inside. Niamh’s moan comes deep from her belly as she opens up for him almost reluctantly. She feels full but so so good.

“Feels full.” She whimpers on the shell of his ear.

He grunts in lieu of responding and keeps a steady rhythm with his fingers. He keeps going, stealing a little of her sanity as the seconds tick by. Virgil angles his fingers upward, touching that spot again and Niamh sobs out loud. He doesn’t let up. Her toes curl in midair. She grabs his face in both her hands and pulls back to stare at him— almost in disbelief that he’s making her feel so good. She knows she must look an undone mess with tears on her cheeks, mouth agape and eyes wide. He doesn’t look away, he keeps his half- mast eyes on her. The eye contact amplifies the pleasure so much she can only cry harder.

“Are you going to come, baby?”

She can only nod rapidly, her fingers digging into his cheeks and jawline.

“Had you on edge the minute I put my tongue in your mouth, didn’t I? You needy little thing.”

The pressure that has been building in her lower belly snaps and Niamh gives a tiny scream. The man hurries to press his mouth against hers with little finesse— he’s doing it more to muffle her cries than to actually kiss her, she realizes. She’s slack jawed as she tries to ride his fingers still flicking away inside her, drawing out the pleasure until she accidentally bites down on his lower lip. She can only describe his groan as something almost primal. Niamh is gasping for breath by the time the pleasure ebbs away. His movements ceased some time ago she’s sure, but she was too high on ecstasy to notice. Virgil pulls out of her slowly, the sound makes her cringe but he groans. Absolutely soaking. He finally sets her down on trembling legs when she catches her breath and backs away from her slowly. He doesn’t stop his retreat until he’s seated on the edge of the bed. Niamh tries not to fidget or cringe at the wetness now cooling between her legs. Even in the dimly lit room, she can see his body almost vibrating with tension. Her cheeks feel hot when her eyes drift to the obvious tent in his sweats. Fuck. She almost wants to laugh at herself for being so eager to believe she can handle that. The man swipes a thumb against his swollen lower lip and inspects the digit for blood. There’s none, but it throbs painfully; it makes something else throb in response and he shifts his hips trying to alleviate the ache. Her musky, sweet scent invades his senses, while she stands a few feet away— the picture of pretty wide-eyed innocence. He wants to ruin her.

“Niamh…”

“I was going to tell you. It all just happened so fast.”

He sighs heavily. “I did warn you—wait, you were willing to just…”

Niamh shrugs helplessly.

“With you… yes.”

“How have you never had sex, Niamh?” His tone is full of curiosity and free of judgment. It makes her relax a little.

“It’s a long story.”

Virgil shrugs. “I’m a depressed, divorced man who isolates himself. I have time and nowhere to be.” He pats the space beside him on the bed— beckoning. Niamh hesitates for only a second before almost shuffling her feet in his direction. She eases herself onto bed almost as if she’s cautious there may be needles hidden in the sheets.

“Relax, Niamh. I’m not going to eat you and if I do it’s going to be in a way that you’ll enjoy.”

Her breath hitches at the blunt way he speaks. He says it like a promise and he doesn’t even blink. Her skin heats up again. ‘Please.’ She wants to beg out loud.

“It’s… um. I grew up in the foster care system. My mom has always struggled with substance abuse and I never met my father. She would be so badly strung out sometimes that she couldn’t move. I would wander off to the neighbours asking for food— sometimes they would have to give me a bath. Imagine that, the neighbours got fed up and reported the issue.” Niamh follows the beam of white light that spills into the room from the window. The moon looks so full and beautiful tonight. A full moon— reflection, release, transformation, intentions. A warm hand rests gently on her thigh; his thumb rubs soothing circles on her skin.

“I entered the system at nine years old. If you know anything about the system, you know people prefer younger children- toddlers. So I would be taken in but— neglected a little. As I got older and bounced around different families, they started leaving the responsibility of taking care of the younger ones for me for the most part. I wasn’t being physically abused but sometimes, I would be subjected to meaner couples. I think some of them tried to overcompensate for some messed up thing they did by taking in a black child; yet they still reminded me that I was… different. So I was a withdrawn child. I didn’t socialize with anyone in school and it followed me all the way into adulthood. By the time I turned 18, I was working at least twelve hours a day almost daily to survive and save up for school. I had no time for anything else and even if I did, the scars I still carry would make it complicated. And that’s my story.” She finishes with a wry smile on her face.

Silence stretches between them. Not awkward, but heavy. Just two people broken in different ways offering the parts of themselves that are still there to each other hoping to lend just a little bit of comfort.

“Fucking hell, Niamh.”

Virgil twists his body to face her fully. Bringing both his hands to her face, he gently cups her soft cheeks. The look in his eyes is so tender it makes her heart flip.

“Baby, you’ve been through so much and to see you still so caring and kind and trusting- you deserve it all, Niamh. The romance, the dates— someone who will kiss the very ground you walk on and spoil you rotten. Not some 33 year old, depressed, bitter, borderline alcoholic with three kids who’ll fuck you like a stranger and then go back to hiding away in his room.”

“I don’t care, Virgil. I can see you’re already making progress, you just need someone to constantly remind you— to give you that extra push and I’ll be that pers-”

“You’re biting off a lot more than you can chew.”

Niamh peers up into his eyes. Those pretty brown eyes even when they’re tinged with melancholy and torment. She ponders her next words carefully, fearful of how he'll react.

“Then don’t leave the burden on just me. Get help from others— professionals.”

Therapy.

Her words hang heavy in the quiet room. She reaches to grasp at his wrist when she realizes his intention of pulling away. Holding his hands in place, she blinks pleadingly up at him.

“Take it from someone who’ll always resent a parent for neglecting them. If not for yourself, do it for them. Shelly is a few years shy of being a teen, do not allow her to enter that difficult period of her life while doubting your love for her. Do not leave the younger ones wondering if you blame them for all the bad things that have happened to you and that they’re being punished.” She pauses to suck in a deep, trembling breath. Full moon. Intentions.

“Do not deny yourself of being loved again because you think you don’t deserve it. Get help and do it now. Please.”

The light from the moon catches his face just right for her to see the slight sheen in his eyes. He leans into her, touching his forehead to her own. He takes a second to just breathe.

“Okay.”

Niamh exhale is weighted with delighted relief. She tentatively brushes her lips against his until he captures her lips in a proper kiss. Unlike before, this one is unhurried. A kiss full of promises to be kept— a kiss of comfort. A kiss that feels like the dynamic between them will shift drastically. It fills her with so much warmth she fears she might combust. Niamh reaches a tentative hand to touch at the waistband of his sweatpants but he quickly grabs her wrist.

“Not tonight, baby. Let me just… hold you.”

Niamh’s disappointment is quickly forgotten by the thought of being completely enveloped by his big, warm body.

“Okay.”

He shifts back onto the bed and under the sheets. Virgil opens his arms in invitation for her to nervously climb into. Niamh’s sigh is one of pure bliss as she settles under the covers and into his arms. Placing her head against his chest, she reaches a hand up to lightly scratch at his beard. His chest rumbles beneath her face with a pleased little groan.

“Good night, Virgil.” She whispers after a quiet yawn.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

A little smile stretches her face while her heart does somersaults in her chest. Niamh is drifting off into blissful sleep when she hears him whisper;

“Thank you, Niamh.”

**************

Virgil makes good on his promise and starts seeing a therapist. When Niamh delivered the news to Ivy, the woman hugged her with tears on her face and gratitude falling from her lips like a mantra. It has been two weeks now and he has already done four sessions. He started watching tv with the kids in the evenings after the second session and took over with reading bedtime stories for Aurora and Mason. After the third session, he took Shelly for a little drive and got her a little nail kit set and brought ice cream back for everybody. Today was his fourth session; he got home almost an hour ago with a lightness to his steps that Niamh hadn’t witnessed before. He kissed all the children and greeted both Niamh and Ivy politely. Yes, politely. He has clearly been avoiding her since that night they laid out their vulnerabilities. She doesn’t know why and she hasn’t been able to ask. He makes it a point to never be alone with her. He even started sleeping in Mason’s room on the nights she stays over. Niamh is fuming; while she’s happy he’s slowly doing better, she craves his attention. She wants him even more now that she has had a taste. Niamh had tried to make herself feel good like he had with her own fingers but it wasn’t the same. Her frustration is amplified when he comes ambling down the stairs with a new look. He finally shaved— it’s back to the neat goatee that she saw in all his pictures. He’s so gorgeous and he won’t even look at her for more than five seconds. She can’t help the way she glares at him.

“What’s going on between you two?”

Niamh startles at Ivy’s voice. The woman suddenly right by her side in the kitchen entryway.

“What? What do you mean?” Niamh avoids looking in the woman’s direction.

“You’re not very subtle, you know? You wear your heart on your sleeve. Your face shows everything you feel.” Ivy gives her a knowing smile.

“I just… I might be crushing but it’s stupid.”

Ivy doesn’t need to know her boss had his fingers as far up inside her as they could reach— so she opts to leave it at that.

“I knew it. He’s never going to make the first move so you’ll need to.”

Niamh eyes the woman like a second head just sprouted from her neck.

“You’re… encouraging this?”

“Hell yes! You’re good for him and the kids. You have no idea what life was like these past couple of months before you came here. The kids would cry most nights before bed, even Shelly. This is the happiest I’ve seen them all in a while.”

Warmth blossoms in her chest like a delicate little flower.

“I… I don’t know. He’s so skeptical because of the age gap and his mental health. He’s worried he won’t be good enough and I don’t know how to convince him that he is.” Niamh’s sigh is full of longing as she watches him play with Mason on the living room floor.

“You got him to start therapy, give him time and that will help. In the meantime, you can keep reassuring him. And try getting him alone more often, a little teasing can go a long way.”

Ivy laughs wholeheartedly at the scandalous expression on her face. Niamh clears her throat, trying not to join her laughter.

“He’s been avoiding me anyway.” She mutters with a pout. Ivy drags her into the kitchen where the smell of her famous curry permeates the air. It makes Niamh’s mouth water. The older woman turns the stove off and gathers her already packed bag which indicates she’s leaving for the day.

“Virgil!”

Niamh looks at the woman with panic present in her eyes.

The man suddenly appears in the kitchen.

“Yes, Ms. Ivy?” He eyes them both with a concerned furrow between his brows.

“I need to hurry home. Help Niamh dish out dinner for everyone please.”

The woman embraces Niamh, ignoring her glare and shooting her a subtle wink. She gives Virgil a gentle pat on his cheek before leaving the kitchen. Niamh tunes out the noise of Ivy bidding the kids farewell in the living room and moves to gather plates to dish out dinner. She so badly wants to give him the silent treatment but the need to confront him burns hotter.

“Avoiding me after I was so vulnerable with you? Real mature.” She huffs.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I know what will happen the minute we’re alone together.”

Niamh stiffens in surprise when she feels his hand on her waist. She looks up to see him scanning the entryway before gently pulling her into his body. She sighs— the tension immediately melting from her bones.

“I just… I don’t want you rushing into anything because we’re both… needy and available.”

She twists her body to look up at him. Gosh, the way he looks at her. Like he can see past every layer- past her skin and down to her very soul.

“I need you to stop acting as if I’m some teenager you’re scared of taking advantage of. Do you think I’ve never been in close proximity to any other man before? I don’t want you because you’re available; I want you because I just do.”

He presses his thumb against her plump mouth and Niamh doesn’t think twice about opening her lips to flick at it with her tongue.

“I’ll come see you tonight.” His voice is thick with his promise. Niamh shivers as he backs away from her, body already thrumming in anticipation.

They dish out dinner together with a quiet tension thick with anticipation between them. And all throughout their meal, their eyes would find each other when they’re not busy fussing over one of the kids. She feels like a bad nanny for wanting the kids in bed and out of the way as quickly as possible, but she can’t help it. A while later, Niamh is helping Aurora with her math work while Virgil entertains Mason and Shelly. They’re all in the living room after the kids have been bathed and are in their pajamas. A sudden, firm knock on the door bursts the content little bubble they’re all basking in.

“Who’s that, daddy?”

Virgil shrugs in response to Shelly’s question. A deep furrow between his brows. He stands and walks over to the door while they all look on in tense anticipation. Niamh has been here for a while now and they’ve never gotten a visitor. Virgil looks through the peephole and Niamh is immediately on high alert at the way his entire body becomes rigid. She relaxes a bit when he starts to unlock the door. It’s obviously someone he knows. But his reaction doesn’t suggest it’s someone he’s particularly happy to see. The door is swung open to reveal a woman— brunette and blue eyed. Very familiar. But Niamh can’t quite place where she has seen her befo-

“Mommy!” The shrill simultaneous shouts seem to echo through the room.

Oh.

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jimmybutlrr · 2 months ago

Note

Put moisture than oil as oil is a sealant. ( oil cannot moisturize ) Use hydrating Shampoos and conditioners and wash your hair bi-weekly.

I have your hair type and my hair was also dry. Use oils mostly for your ends and scalp and don’t use too much gel as gels have alcohol and it drys out the hair. ( I’m also in cosmetology school )

Blue magic, pink lotion the classics. Also biotin doesn’t do nothing unless you’re severely lacking it which is rare. So if you do take it won’t do anything.

i have 4c hair and it's always dry even though i moisturise it with camille rose moisture milk and the almond jai twisting butter

does anyone have any suggestions for dry, natural 4c hair

either products or techniques i could try

Hi girl 💕 Maybe it has too much oil for your hair? Did you ever try to do hair type porosity test? I've heard few times Camille rose moisture milk dried people hair!!

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jimmybutlrr · 2 months ago

Note

URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD.

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.

My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others

I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment.

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺

Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.

So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.

Please Donate now:👇

https://www.gofundme.com/f/join-us-in-our-struggle-save-our-family-from-war-in-gaza

🤍🤍🤍🤍

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jimmybutlrr · 3 months ago

Text

i forgot to post this but which one of you lame ass nerds works at my dentists old office

124K notes · View notes

jimmybutlrr · 3 months ago

Text

[Sneak Peek]

Southern Hospitality

Summary: Sort of a synopsis. An introduction of Terry. This sneak peek will be two parts.

Warnings: Violence, Smut

Terry Richmond entered the basement of his townhome in Charlotte, North Carolina and opened his ruck. After a long, harsh winter, he decided to organize some things to prepare for Spring. Swiping dust off of totes with his calloused hands, he situated himself on his knees for a better look. There, folded neatly on top, were his old cammies. Desert cammies. Ratty and bleached by sand and sun and blemished with the petroleum rain that fell from the oil-well fires in Kuwait.

Terry rose to a standing position again, shaking out the camo pants. He slipped off his black ball shorts and stepped into them, memories suddenly returning. They still fit. He can’t shake the habit of staying in the best shape and active, especially with him being an MCMAP Instructor. During his earlier years as a Marine Raider, he exercised thirty hours a week. He buttoned the top and stroked the embroidery. Honorary pins still clung to the fabric.

Terry delve deeper and pulled out maps of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. Patrol books. Pictures. Letters. His journal with its sparse entries. Coalition propaganda pamphlets. Brass bore punch for the M40A2 sniper rifle. A handful of .50 caliber projectiles. Terry wondered what he must look like to the late night walker passing by his basement windows: the mad old warrior going through his memorabilia, triggering his unresolved PTSD and looking for trouble.

No, he isn’t mad. Some days are better than others, but he isn’t mad. He’s after something. Memory, yes. A reel. More than just time. It’s almost a year since. Just at the end of April he’d be turning thirty–three. And a year prior he spent it with his fellow soldiers over drinks that lead to him dropping nine inches of whopping girth in seasoned pussy. Flashes of her haunted his mind like the sound of grenades and cries of pain. Then his thoughts drifted to a vibrant thing that wanted to see the world. Using his pleasure stick for her own no good reasons.

And there, amongst many photos with comrades, is the man that saw something in him. His own version of a super soldier. Like a son he never had. Terry blinked slowly as his thick fingers smoothed over the edges of the photograph…

August, 2021:

Lieutenant General Swanwick’s authoritarian voice could be heard over the public address system within the base gym. Terry Richmond was currently lifting a few hundred pounds over his chest with another Marine named Rodney spotting him. Terry was just twenty–nine years old then. Sweat poured from his body and onto the gym floor and his dog tags clung to his chest as if his sweat were glue.

Terry blew air from his cheeks that sounded like the low whistle of an exhaust pipe, “Six…seven…eight—”

“All personnel from MARSOC are ordered to report immediately to battalion headquarters. Get some, Raiders!”

Terry felt his chest grow tighter with anticipation. Deployment was inevitable. Terry rushed to gather himself, throwing on his tank top and buttoning his camouflage jacket. All things in order, he and the remaining MARSOC stationed in Virginia mad their way to Headquarters. He could sense the anxious energy from everyone in that room. Terry’s turquoise eyes veiled with dark lashes never blinked as Lieutenant General Swanwick’s outline of their battle against Iraqi and Kuwait unfolded. Terry gritted his teeth and tightened his jaw.

It’s war time.

On August 8th, the MARSOC arrive in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Terry debarked the plane, the oven heat of the Arabian Desert gripping his throat. In the distance the wind blows sand from the tops of dunes, cresting beige waves that billow like silk through the mirage. The tarmac is filled with American civilian jumbo jets—American, Delta, United. They flew United. The scene at the airfield is how any busy international airport would be, only they were dressed in fatigues and carrying loaded rifles, their gas masks strapped to their hips.

Just beyond the tarmac, artillery batteries point their guns East and North. Fighter jets patrol the sky. During the dreaded twenty–hour flight, their mode of debarkation was debated—tactical or general—and Terry hoped for a tactical approach—live rounds and a defensive perimeter could be the only authentic introduction to a theater of war. They marched in a single–filed line towards a series of large, bright green Bedouin tents. They entered and immediately went to retrieve bottled water and attempt to stay cool by draping wet skivvy shirts over their heads.

“Ya’ll better drink up enough water. I don’t need my Raiders passing out from heat stroke when we gotta keep our eyes open and on our targets,” Swanwick drilled.

His hat remained low enough to cloak his eyes, giving him a no–nonsense look. He meant business. Terry caught his eye while gulping down cold water. Swanwick motioned for him to come over. Terry came face–to–face with the Lieutenant General.

“Aight there, son?” Swanwick quietly said.

“I’m chill, Lieutenant,” Terry replied with confidence.

“Good to hear. Don’t let these fools throw you off your game, Richmond. You’re one of the best. And I need you alive.”

“After a rigorous seven–months to transform into the elite, I don’t plan on it.”

“That’s right,” Swanwick gripped Terry’s shoulder firm, “now, let’s show ‘em who we are.”

Terry cracked a smile filled with hunger for what was to come. He knew just how much the others despised his presence. Some felt he wasn’t worthy or qualified to be among them.

After an hour in the tents, colonel calls a battalion formation and proudly announces that they are taking part in Operation Desert Shield. He explains that the Kuwaiti–Iraqi conflict in not yet their concern, but currently their mission is to protect, to shield, Saudi Arabia and her flowing oil–fields. Low grumbles could be heard throughout.

“HEY. Not every day blood is shed!”

Terry chuckled while kicking away at sand beneath his boots. He was surrounded by a bunch of antsy men. That energy alone could get them killed.

“One step at a time,” Swanwick motioned to his men, “Let’s get to it.”

They dispersed to get a sense of the area, laughing amongst themselves with jokes about going from the Marine Corps to Oil Corps. Beneath the loud sounds of chuckles and belly laughs, they knew that reality was near, and death could be knocking on their door. Terry’s laughter drifted away like the swirling sand that painted his golden skin an ashy color.

As days stretched out, it consisted of sand and water and piss. They walk and drive over the sand and drink gallons of water. Six times a day they gathered for formation and swallowed two canteens per man, and between formation they consumed more water.

Six weeks later and Terry found himself sitting in a chow hall and watching Lieutenant General Swanwick talk closely with other high ranking officers. Terry tucked into his beans and sausages with a steady gaze locked on their table. His skin had browned so deep it was akin to burnished bronze. It made his eyes pop vividly and the ink on his arms more bold and daring.

His eyes were dry and irritated from staring at maps all day, his muscles ached from the makeshift equipment they used to pump iron. He grew tired of sleeping amongst men that couldn’t go a night without jacking off to crumbled polaroids of their women back home. Terry wanted to get in the field. He’d already gotten into several fights and the skin beneath his left eye had just began to heal from a nasty bruise.

Swanwick’s shoulders tensed. What could that mean? Were they heading for battle? He watched the father figure walk away and out of the chow hall. Terry scarfed down the rest of his meal before cleansing his palate with water. He made his way towards the exit in search of Swanwick. He was standing a few feet away, staring up at the full moon. Terry glanced up himself, his eyes taking in the pale white moon. It was beauty surrounded by an impending chaos.

“Lieutenant General…”

Swanwick glanced over his shoulder.

“Richmond. Enjoy your meal?”

“You can only have but so much beans.” Terry complains.

“Good fiber fuels the body.” Swanwick replied.

A stillness surrounded them for a minute.

“What we lookin’ like, Sir?”

Swanwick dipped his head.

“Can’t tell you much…but it’s looking like rifles at the ready.”

Terry’s back stiffened.

“I know that’s music to your ears, soldier.”

“Music to all our ears.”

No showers, no rack, no wadi in sight, no oasis.

Terry needed to feel as if his skills were being used. Tested. He felt trapped. Isolated.

Sergeant James and Lieutenant General Swanwick gathered the platoon in a school circle under the plastic infrared cover. It’s before zero nine and already one hundred degrees.

Their platoon commands three Humvees, and the vehicles are under IR cover. Ideally, weapons, vehicles, and personnel shielded under the netting will avoid detection by enemy infrared devices. Terry wasn’t convinced. Why believe in the effectiveness of IR netting when the drink tube on your gas mask breaks every time you don–and–clear during a training nerve–gas raid? When the best maintenance for the PRC–76 radio, the Prick, is the Five–Foot Drop?

Apparently, press will visit for a few days, and Sergeant James and Lieutenant General Swanwick already recited a list of unacceptable topics. No divulging data concerning capabilities of their sniper rifles or optics and the length and intensity of their training. They’ve been ordered to act like top Marines, patriots, shit–hot hard dicks, the best of the battalion. As the scout/snipers, they’ve been handpicked by the executive officer and the s–2 officer to serve as the eyes and ears of the battalion commander.

“Listen up,” James says, “I’ve gone over this already, but the Lieutenant wants to go over it again. Basically, don’t get specific. Say you can shoot from far away. Say you are highly trained, that there are no better shooters in the world than Marine Snipers. Say you’re excited to be here and you believe in the mission and that we’ll annihilate the Iraqis. Take off your shirts and show your muscles. We’re gonna run through some calisthenics for them. Doc John, give us a RAIDERS workout. Keep it simple, snipers.”

Terry spoke, “it ain’t simple. This is censorship. You’re telling me what I can and can’t say to the press? Why are they even allowed in this space anyway?”

Kuehn, a fellow marine says, “Not our place to say what we can and can’t do—”

“Wasn’t addressing you, Kuehn.” Terry quipped.

“I speak for all of us when I say this. You got a mouth on you, Richmond.” Kuehn argued back.

“Aight now,” Swanwick warned.

The tension between the Marines grew to a fever pitch.

“Oh, so you the voice of war now, huh? You call the shots? How that happen?”

Soft chuckles coming from the other Marines seemed to embarrass Kuehn.

“Shut the fuck up, Richmond! You don’t even belong here!” Kuehn shouted ragefully.

“My reputation for accuracy says otherwise, Kuehn. But you wouldn’t know about that though. Too much piss on your boots.”

The chuckling intensified.

Kuehn approached Terry with his chest puffed out. Terry stood at 6 '3 with his arms folded, towering over a 5' 9 Kuehn. The tallest man there. Terry’s stony eyes never faltered. Beady glacial–blue eyes stared up at him filled with rage. Kuehn’s usual pasty, alabaster skin was sun–burned and red from the scorching Saudi heat.

“You think you’re better than me, Richmond?! Huh?!”

“I know I am, pissy boots—”

“RICHMOND!” Sergeant James shouted.

Kuehn wouldn’t get out of Terry’s personal space.

“Don’t get your ass beat again, Kuehn, get up out my face—”

Kuehn shoves Terry and immediately a fight breaks out. Fists flying with connecting punches and heavy grunts. The circle widened and cheers amongst fellow Raiders drowned out the high ranking officers trying to call it off. Terry forced Kuehn into a headlock and slammed him to the sand, his eyes suddenly burning from the minerals coating his lashes. He repeatedly punched Kuehn, causing him to shield his face with his forearms. It took three men to get Terry off of him.

Terry was ushered into one of the green tents by a frustrated Lieutenant.

“RICHMOND! STAND DOWN!”

Shirt bundled up revealing a taunt six–pack, bottom lip poked out and bleeding from a hairline slit, face dusty and jet black hair stained with sand, he kept his fists balled and his eyes locked on Kuehn as he was lifted from the ground.

“You lost your mind, Boy?!”

Sergeant James marched up to Terry and pressed his face so close to his Terry could smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Swanwick you better get your star pupil in line before I do. You put your hands on Kuehn again, I’ll send you back to Virginia, understand?”

Terry remained silent with fury. Only his heavy breathing could be heard.

“Terry?” Swanwick called out to him, “You hear that?”

“Yes, Sir Serg.” Terry said through gritted teeth.

“You don’t like my orders?”

Swanwick pressed a firm hand against James’ chest.

“I got it, James. We’ll be out.”

James’ lethal gaze never left Terry as he backed away. Terry didn’t falter.

“What was that, Richmond?” Swanwick whispered.

“Self–defense. Kuehn put his hands on me first, Lieutenant. You don’t see Serg talking to him do you? I know what it is…”

Swanwick shut his eyes.

“Which means that you gotta be on your best behavior. I want you to succeed, Richmond. I already know you're the best of the Veteran Raiders. Stop letting them get to your head.”

Terry was released. He fixed his army green T-shirt that clung to his body like a second skin from the sweat. He rearranged the dog tags hanging from his neck. Swanwick grasped his shoulder.

“Terry…”

“I got it.”

Swanwick hesitated before stepping aside while Terry walked out of the tent with his usual gait. Just as he was attempting to simmer his anger, Sergeant James was giving another speech.

“…You do as you're told. You signed the contract. You have no rights, you can’t speak out against your country. We call that treason. You can be shot for it. Goddamnit, we’re not playing around. Training is over. Tell your complaints to Abdul Latif Rashid. See if he cares.”

He bit his tongue. Terry wanted to come to the defense of free speech, but he knew it would be useless. The language they own is not theirs, it is not a private language, but deprived from Marine Corps history and lore and tactics.

The Marine Corps birthday? 10 November 1775, The Marine Corps is older than the United States of America. Birthplace? Tun Tavern, Philadelphia, a gang of drunks and big balls. Tarawa? Bloodiest battle of WWII. Dan Daly? He killed thirty–seven Chinese by hand during the Boxer Rebellion. Deadliest weapon on earth? The marine and his rifle. Terry had to conform to those standards, speak like it.

Reporters are arriving to ask what they thought about the desert, waiting for war. He’ll answer that he likes it; he’s prepared for anything that might come his way. They’re due at their position by 0900. Terry leaves the free speech argument and walked to their straddle trench. He needed to empty his bowels. There’s no seat in a straddle trench, but he’s been punished many times, for hours on end, in the squat position. It reminded him of Korea, where he spent a month of his last deployment. Most public restrooms in Korea had straddle holes, he’d spent many times there emptying the contents of his stomach after walking away from a bar booth.

Terry looked at the sky, blue like no blue he’d known before, and at the desert that would not stop. This is the pain of the landscape, worse than the heat, worse than the flies—there is no getting out of the land. No stopping. After six weeks of deployment, the desert is in him, one particle at a time—his boots and belt and pants and gas mask and weapons are covered and filled with sand. Sand invaded his body: ears and eyes and nose and mouth and piss hole. The desert is everywhere. The mirage is everywhere. Awake, asleep, high heat of the afternoon or the few soft, sunless hours of early morning.

The destination to free Kuwait.

The following day, the press–pool colonel and his driver wait in the Land Rover, the air–conditioning blowing the colonel’s hair into fine white wisps of artillery smoke. Terry nibbled on his full bottom lip, gnawing at the tender spot where he’d been clipped while fighting Kuehn. He wore his blacked–out shades, a white tank, and his camouflage pants with sand–covered boots. They gathered under the IR netting and the reporters introduced themselves. There’s a man from the Boston Globe and the woman from the New York Times.

Terry recognized the woman

Toccara Chester. Broadcast and Political Reporter and Journalist. She’s committed to factual reporting, but known for being competitive and headstrong, which tended to rub people the wrong way.

Terry aligned himself next to Rodney, a friend and fellow Marine. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked around him before focusing his gaze on Toccara. They took turns going down the line, shaking hands and urging them to speak freely, but they know about the scripted preparation. The answers to their questions have already been written on the Raiders faces, though maybe not in their hearts. Toccara Chester looked bored, or at least not very interested in what they might tell her.

She stood before Terry, reaching out a hand to shake his. He glanced down at her almond–shaped nails painted red. She wore a white tank as well, her layered blunt cut hair swept away from her face. Fitted, khaki cargo pants hugged her hour–glass shape and hiking boots in various earth–toned colors were on her feet. The beauty mark on her right cheek made her look glamorous like those old Hollywood actress’. A small smile teased her sultry lips.

“What’s your name, Marine?”

“Richmond.” Terry responded with an unreadable expression.

“I’m Toccara. Happy to be here. Looking forward to seeing how things go in your camp.”

Terry dipped his head slightly, his eyes trailing behind her as she moved on.

Rodney leans into Terry to whisper, “You see that ass on her? Fatter than I expected.”

Terry chuckled softly with a shake of his head. He never took his eyes off of Toccara as he tilted his head to whisper a reply.

“Calm down, Rod. She ain’t fuckin’ you.”

Rodney nudged Terry in his ribs.

“I ain’t have pussy in months! She just might work.”

“Chill, man,” Terry said with a laugh.

After the introductions, the MARSOC dispersed to train and perform for the reporters. Much to Terry’s displeasure. Toccara sashayed up and down that camp, recorder in hand and a camera hanging from her neck. She had a little spiral notepad in her back pocket. Beyond her aviators, Terry had a feeling she was watching him. She was positioned within his proximity too often. Like there weren’t many other Marines on duty. Swanwick and the other officers stood by with a hawk–eyed look.

Terry finished his workout and now he was busy cleaning his sniper rifle. The dainty sound of a throat clearing to gain his attention made him pause. Terry peered down over his shoulder at Toccara with her recorder at the ready, pointed at his face.

“Tryna keep from being interviewed, Terry?”

So, she got his first name, huh?

“Tryna stay on track, Toccara. If you didn’t notice by now, we’re pretty busy.”

“Mind giving me a few minutes of your time, Marine?”

Terry exhaled. Rather loud. She overlooked everything he said. Busy. As in leave him alone.

He turns, craning his neck so she could reach his mouth better.

“Go on.” Terry said.

Toccara tilted her head with a grin.

“Do you believe that your Special Ops will defeat the Iraqi?”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe in our mission. I believe we will quickly win this war and send the enemy crawling home.”

Toccara nodded her head, “Sounds like you’re proud to be here.”

“Ye, ma’am, I’m proud to be here serving my country. Standing up to evil. Take ‘em all down.”

Toccara cracked a smile, “Well rehearsed, Marine.”

Terry clenched his jaw. He glanced to the left before fixing his eyes on her again.

“Where are you from, Richmond?”

“Born in Louisiana, raised in North Carolina, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh, what made you enlist?”

“I joined when I was eighteen rather than go to jail for a few years. Petty stuff. My grandfather was a Marine. And his father. And so on. It was this or a life of wrong choices.”

“What was the petty stuff?”

Terry quirked a brow at her. Toccara stood her ground, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

“Possession. Running behind my cousin.”

“Hm…over a little weed?”

Terry couldn’t help but laugh. Toccara’s high cheekbones shown.

“How ‘bout that shit? But I’m proud of what the Corps has made me.”

“What is it about being a Marine Raider? What struck you?”

“Uh,” Terry stroked his stubble, “This is about freedom, not about oil. It’s about–it’s about standing up to aggression…”

Sergeant James took his time walking around, drawing closer to Terry. Terry caught his eye. Toccara took notice at Terry’s body language. She felt Sergeant James’ presence on her back.

“…Like the president says. Nobody wants to go to war. We just got to be ready. I can shoot out someone’s eye ball from a klick away. Ain’t no better shot in the world.”

Toccara’s expression hardened.

“Are you proud to serve this country, Terry?”

Terry huffed, “Didn’t I answer this question?”

“Not really.”

Her response was met with dry laughter, “Ha…Okay,” Terry shifted his weight, “I’m proud to serve. This is what I signed for. I’m gonna make my pop and mom proud. I’m from Lincoln Heights. My mom talkin’ bout making a parade for me like they do back in NOLA. My mama say the whole neighborhood is behind me.”

“That must make you feel good.”

“Does.”

“Is your mother scared about you being here?”

“She don’t necessarily feel good about me being here. She writes me letters about watching my ass and don’t try being a hero and watch out for my buddies.”

Terry smoothed sand beneath his feet.

“And your dad?”

Terry’s eyes met hers. There was a momentary silence, one that created tension.

“I think our interview is over, Miss Chester. I gotta head back…”

Terry turned to leave. Toccara caught up with him and grabbed his arm to pull him back. Terry exhaled a frustrated sigh. Her beautiful face with wind–swept hair pleased his blue–green eyes despite his annoyance.

“Okay, okay. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

Terry licked his lips, “aight. One more question.”

“Are you afraid?”

Terry blinked slowly at her.

“…I’m well trained and prepared to fight any menace in the world.”

“…so that’s a no?” Toccara sought clarification.

“RICHMOND!”

Swanwick ushered for him to come over.

“Looks like our times up. Hope you got what you needed.”

Terry jogged away.

“I STILL HAVE TWO MORE DAYS HERE!”

Terry rolled his eyes.

The taste of pecans lingered on his tongue. The Times reporter brought a football. Rodney and a few others tossed the ball back and forth, putting on a performance for Toccara. When eye candy is hard to come by so willingly, the men tend to act a fool, so foolish it turns corny. All day while she sauntered about with her recorder held high and hips swaying, none of the Raiders could focus. Terry couldn’t deny her sexy himself. They’re shirtless and revved up with flirtatious energy. The Boston Globe reporter, a frail, young caucasian man with bifocals and a man bun, stood next to Toccara. He’s soft–spoken, eager to hear from them.

Terry sat on the hood of a war machine with his foot hiked up. Toccara’s skin the color of maple syrup didn’t take much time to deepen beneath the blazing sun. She snapped photos from her digital camera. The sun was setting and it was almost time to eat. Terry planned to have a dinner and then use the portable shower. He hated the water pressure, but it’ll do for now.

Toccara tried her hardest to get detailed answers from them, and Terry could sense the irritation in her face as the first day came to an end. Looks like she wouldn’t be getting that juicy story she was expecting. Terry hopped down from his place on the war machine and tossed his empty packet into a nearby bin. He swiped his tongue over his teeth as he strolled with his usual gait towards the chow hall. Rodney had caught up with him, sweaty and shirtless, rocking into him before tossing an arm over his shoulder. His armpit reeked of sweat and musk. Terry pushed him away, swiping the air.

Inside, they accepted their meals and took their seats. Toccara and the Boston Globe Reporter took a seat at a nearly empty table. While the Boston Globe Reporter talked, Toccara stared off into space, water canteen hovering over her lips. Terry continued to eat, drowning out the conversations surrounding him. Swanwick and the other officers laughed amongst themselves, the most relaxed they’d ever been those six weeks.

Terry peered over his cup of water and noticed Toccara was gone, leaving the Boston Reporter to his notes. Terry checked his digital watch.

“Aight, I’m heading for the showers.”

Terry hopped up before getting rid of his empty tray of food. He wiped his hands and made his way out of the chow hall and toward the tent he slept in. He entered, retrieved his towel and wash cloth with the soap he used, and made his way towards the portable showers. It wasn’t a long walk. He made sure it was clear to undress. He quickly pulled his tank up and over his head, biceps bulging and torso flexing. Terry worked on his belt buckle and pants hastily lowering them with his briefs. His soft dick with coiled pubic hair surrounding it met the warmth of the night air.

He kicked off his boots haphazardly and began his shower. The soft droplets of water covered his body from head to toe. Terry scrubbed profusely, ridding his body of the sand and grime of the day. The scent of eucalyptus rose from his soap sponge. It reminded him of his shower times back at home. Just for a second. Terry cleaned every crevice before rinsing thoroughly. He opened his mouth, allowing the water to flood through before releasing it. He knew he was damn near over his limit, but the water felt too good.

Terry turned off the water and grabbed his towel. He dabbed away the water but not completely. It kept him cool at night. Terry wrapped the towel around his waist and slipped his feet into his boots, forgetting to bring his sleep bottoms with him. He took long strides back to his tent, happy to find it empty still.

He slipped on some grey joggers, a fresh pair of socks, and dropped on his makeshift bed. There was a hole above the tent that gave him the faintest view of the moon and stars. As he star–gazed, enjoying the peace and quiet before some of his bunk mates returned, he could hear noise on the outside of his tent. Terry cut his eyes towards the opening of the tent, and noticed the silhouette of a woman.

Toccara.

Terry sat up and slipped on his boots. He had a feeling she was up to something. He gently opened the tent and looked from left to right. Everyone was still inside of the chow hall. Terry walked out and searched around the camp. As he made his way towards the weapons section of the camp, he spotted Toccara with her camera like a typical reporter doing whatever it takes to get the latest scoop.

The low flicker from her trusty camera teased his ears. Terry wasted no time charging up to her. Toccara heard his footsteps and dropped her camera in the sand. She whirled around, eyes wide with shock. Terry furrowed his brows disapprovingly. Toccara’s brown eyes did a quick sweep over his naked upper half. When she met his eyes again, she looked guilty.

“What are you doing, Toccara?” Terry asked with a tone of anger.

“Just having a look. I can do that, can’t I?” She replied sassily.

“Not when it involves taking pictures. Pictures that can compromise our mission.”

Toccara crouched down to pick up her camera but Terry was quicker. He snatched the camera out of the sand and took it upon himself to see what she’d been photographing.

“Terry! Wait!”

“You crazy?” Terry flicked his eyes towards her, “Taking pics of our shit like it’s cool?”

“It’s just guns and grenades—”

“And we’re on enemy ground. They can see this shit if it gets out, you know that, right?”

Toccara remained silent and looked everywhere but at Terry. His eyes were too intense.

“Look at me. HEY.”

Toccara snapped her attention to his.

“I’m deleting every single one.”

“That’s my property,” Toccara said with a grimace.

“And this is my shit, right here,” Terry picked up his rifle, “my rifle, my pistol. My assigned weapons. All of this shit is assigned.”

“Whatever, just hurry up asshole!”

Terry glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby. He walked up to Toccara, his chest almost touching hers.

“Oh, look, he wants to scar me.” Toccara replied with sarcasm.

“You’re dead wrong. Didn’t you sign a consent agreement? I bet you didn’t read the fine print, did you?”

Toccara glared at Terry with her arms folded.

“A fine up to a couple hundred thousand. Sound like something you wanna do?”

Terry cocked his head down at her. Toccara tapped her foot. She was pissed. Visibly seething.

“Sorry, Miss New York Times, but that shit don’t fly over here.”

Terry made sure to delete them all. When he finished, Toccara reached for her camera. Terry didn’t make any moves to give it back.

“You take any more pictures, I’m breaking this shit, aight?”

Toccara’s left eyelid twitched. She flipped her hair from her face with one hand before rolling her eyes.

“I get it, okay? Now give me my fucking camera back.”

Terry hesitated. Toccara pursed her glossy lips. Finally, he held it out for her. Toccara snatched it from his grasp, eliciting a deep chuckle from his lips.

“Little dick, motherfucker.” She fired at him with a vengeful whisper.

Terry cracked a smile, amused by her. He dragged his eyes over her frame before backing away, one hand over his supposed ‘little dick’.

“Have a good rest of your evening, Miss Chester.”

Toccara turned on her heels, marching away. She was mumbling something else that Terry couldn’t make out, and it made him laugh harder. She ain’t used to getting her way.

Little dick.

Pssst.

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