prettygrlwrld

[prettygrlwrld]

Push It

Pair: Black male x Black female reader 

Genre: established relationship, black romance,  smut

Warning: 18+, strong language, power dynamics, dirty talk, breathplay, rough, praise k!nk, fingering, creamie, overstimulation, etc. 

Summary: You snuck out of bed to make breakfast. He woke up hungry — just not for food.

A little teasing turns into a full-body reminder of who you belong to. Kitchen counter. Over the arm of the couch. On the couch. Again. And again. And again.

You snuck out of the bed, brushing your teeth and rushing through your skincare routine so that you don’t wake him. 

As you were scrambling eggs—your sausage and biscuits almost done in the oven when you could feel him creeping up on you—heavy feet passing the ground carefully, as if he wanted you to know he’s coming. 

He kissed your shoulder gently, sending a shiver up your spine aching for his touch. “Mornin’ “ he said, voice deep with sleep dripping like honey that sweetened what was already stirring between your legs. 

“Mornin’ darlin’ “ you said just above a whisper. A silent moment passed of his front flushed against your back, large frame wrapped around your waist, head buried in your neck, engulfing you in an embrace that you never wanted to leave. 

“ Ion appreciate waking up in the bed without you in it”, his breath hot against your neck. 

“ I…I figured you’d be hungry”, you breathed. 

“I got sum I can eat right here”, he kissed on your neck. 

You giggled lightly, trying to disguise the heat rising under your skin, as he squeezed your waist. 

“Baby I’m almost done, just give me a min”, he groaned in your neck—placing a kiss just below your chin. 

“Ight” he said slowly pulling away, walking back into the room. You immediately missed the warmth of his body on your back.

Quickly finishing everything & turning the stove off. You made y’alls plate, bending over to properly organize the dishes in the dishwasher.

He walked up grabbing your hips pulling them to his pelvis, laying a snack on your ass as you gasped—taken aback & aroused.

You popped his hand, “you needa stop playing!!” you shouted playfully.

He caught you by your waist, pulling you into his chest. 

“Uh uh, that’s my get back for sneakin’ out the bed.”

“I didn’t sneak anywhere”, you said matter of factly. 

Towering over you he slid his right hand up from your hip up to the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine that you hadn’t realized manifested physically—causing you to flinch in his grip. 

“Mhm you must be sensitive from last night”, he chuckles darkly. 

You stiffened, feeling the pounding pulse between your legs. 

“You flinchin’ every time a nigga touch you, like you scared or sum”, displaying that devilish grin that melted the fake attitude your put on. 

“Boy move, I ain’t scared of no one but God”, you said hurriedly busying yourself around the kitchen to distract yourself. 

His eyes tracked you from the sink to the fridge, you couldn’t take it anymore. “The fuck are your starin’ at?”, you said like he was aggravating your last nerve—he was truly disturbing the peace in your nervous system, your body betraying you under his gaze. 

You always loved the way he looked at you, with such love and desire, like he needed you in his veins. 

But this wasn’t that. 

This was darker, you managed to take a lighthearted moment and push him too far. 

Despite the pitbull like, stoic, handsome face he was blessed with, he was very respectful and kind. 

Therefore he didn’t take disrespect well, from anybody—especially his bratty younger girlfriend who just swore she knew everything. 

“The fuck did you just say to me”, he stated—clearly not a question. 

He knew that look in your eyes as you tried to conceal the smirk pulling at your thick lips—that he would surely stuff if you kept this up. 

“And befo’ you answa that, just remember you already owe me darlin’ “, he said lowly as he backed you into the counter. 

He felt bigger—biceps cornering you, jaw tight, deep brown eyes daring you to test him. 

“Ya’ mama ain’t ever told you its rude to stare?”, you said—looking dead in those dark alluring orbs. 

Because he was a couple years older he often tried to play you like a lil girl, but he wouldn’t be with you if that were true. 

His head fell as he laughed sarcastically—I’m finna fuck this girl up—forcfully putting you on the counter and encapsulating your lips in a passionate kiss. 

You fought the urge to open your hips—not fully accepting him and he knew it. 

He pulled back, licking his lips before peppering kisses across you jawline and down your neck. “Open up for me pretty”, massaging lazy circles on your thighs making their way up his extra large shirt that you had slept in. 

His touch ignited a fire in you that you couldn’t contain.  He was so gentle, applying the perfect amount of pressure in all the right places. 

You opened your legs—exposing your bare heat. 

Slick with your juices, you could no longer hide your yearning for him and his love. 

Pulling his shirt over your head, he pulled you flush to him with his hand gently wrapped around your neck—chest to chest with just his basketball shorts standing between you and euphoria. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, arching into him, wanting more of him. 

“Always runnin’ that damn mouth”, he said on your lips and his right hand began rubbing circles on the button that he knows will set you off. 

HIs left arm holding you in place, hips spread wide across his—completely at his mercy, which is exactly where he wanted you. 

“The fuck am I starin’ at?”, he chuckled darkly, befuddled how you could ever let that come out of your mouth. 

“That was cute, but I always get what I’m owed”, applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll. 

He watched intently as you ground your hips in rhythm with his hand—aching for more. 

He finally dipped his middle and ring fingers in knuckle deep, “you feel that? that’s me collecting on every slick comment you made”, curling up into that spot that made you scream his name. All while his thumb applies steady pressure to your pearl. 

Gripping his bicep as your man coaxed you into the first of what you feared would be many orgasms today—you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him in close to prevent his hand from diving in your heat at such a splintering pace. 

Biting onto his shoulder to hide your moans.

“Uh uh, don’t hide now…I wanna hear it”, feeling your walls squeezing his digits.

“Ohhhh my…fuckkkk’, you dragged. 

“Mhm, look at you making a mess”, he smirked, capturing your lips again—you were moaning right in his mouth as his tongue explored on its own. 

“Tell me when you wanna cum ”

“Baby I-“, he hummed on your lips as you stumbled over your words. 

“I got you baby, give it to me”, scratching at his arms you screamed coming undone on his hand—unrelentingly penetrating you through your high. 

You were still trembling when he lifted you off the counter, your bare thighs clinging to his torso like a second skin.

His lips found your neck again as he carried you effortlessly through the apartment, your head buried in his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The way he moved said everything—this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

He tossed you down over the arm of the couch like a prize he’d already won, your body folding just the way he liked.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he yanked your hips back. 

You waited in anticipation as he quickly came out of his shorts,  positioning you where he wanted—where you needed to be.

He rubbed along your rear, hips, and lower back—rubbing his full length against your heat, smearing your slick all around your core, teasing you in the worst way. 

You pushed back on him—hornily trying to get him deep in your folds. 

"Who you belong to?”, he asked laying a hard smack to your ass—barely pushing in with his mushroom tip. 

You gasped, barely able to respond through your shallow breath.

"I'm yours”, you barely breathed out.

“Say it again”, slowly stretching you out.

“I’m yours, baby… all yours."

A guttural groan rumbled through his chest as you rammed his full length in you.

"Mmm, this my shit."

He gripped your hips tighter, his pace punishing—demanding every last ounce of submission from you.

"Give it to me or I'ma fuck it outta you."

The slap of skin echoed through the room, in rhythm with your whimpers and his ragged breath.

You were desperate now—reaching for anything to stabilize yourself: the cushions, a pillow, his forearm, your own damn breath—but he gave you no room to breathe, no room to think.

“Allat shit talkin’, and here you are… beggin’ me to ruin you.”

His hand found your throat again, not to choke but to own—like a leash holding you right on the edge.

You cried out, face pressed into the couch, feeling him hit that devastating spot over and over.

Your moans weren’t just loud—they were pleas, pulled from the very center of your being.

You collapsed forward, boneless, breathless, but he wasn’t done—not even close.

He flipped you like you weighed nothing, placing you flat on your back across the length of the couch, pulling your hips back into his.

He kissed your temple gently—too gently for what was coming next.

“Where you want it ma?”

“In me…fuck baby I want it”, biting his lip he tilted your chin up to look in your eyes. 

“Y/N don’t say that”—ragged breaths, sloppy strokes, he was slowly losing his control. 

“You can’t say that…I’ll fill your ass up”, kissing up his jaw to his ear, you whispered, “cum in your pussy daddy”. 

You felt him twitch inside you—giving in he laid his full weight on you, snaking his hands around your waist to hug you in close—laying his head on your shoulder. 

Dragging your nails up across his broad shoulders and up his back, left hand massing the nape of his neck, right hand steadying yourself against his unforgiving strokes. 

He could feel you pushing on his shoulder—attempting to create some space so you could take advantage of him being silly putty in your hands. 

He pulled your hips up into his, as his pelvis was attacking yours—causing tears to well up in your eyes from his tip kissing your spot. 

“Ain’t no runnin’ from me pretty girl”, he moaned low and deep.

“You stuck with me and I ain’t goin’ nowhere”, he said lovingly in your ear making your cry his name. 

You arched into him—trying to find relieve some of the pressure in the pit of your stomach— his palm pressed you flat so you could feel all of him. 

“Fuck ma, you so damn wet…this pretty pussy was made just for me”, you couldn’t hear anything anymore, incapable of stringing words together even if you could. 

He leaned back, looking down on your fucked out expression—quickly closing his eyes to keep from releasing in that moment. 

“Look at me baby”, you opened your eyes low to see him basically drooling over your full breast.

Spitting right on your nipple, rolling it in his fingers, and watching your face contort as he took over your body—making sure this last nut was the one that knocked all the air out your lungs. 

You put your hand on his belly, “daddy…I…I can’t take it”, you breathed out barely above a whisper. 

“You so close mama, I can feel it”, he said slapping your breast with just enough force to send you into pure ecstasy. 

“And I’m right behind you pretty”, he said. 

You could feel his muscles tighten up, signaling he was close.

“Give it to me daddy, fuck…I can take it”, he whimpered—releasing his desire for control, chasing his own pleasure. 

“I…I’m about to…”, you cried in a sea of curses and repeatedly moaning his name. 

Your vision blurred, your mind lost to nothing but the sound of him moaning your name like a sacred vow.

“Cum for me baby.”

That was it.

You let go. Completely.

Your back arched violently, mouth opened in a silent scream as your orgasm hit like a freight train.

He groaned into your skin, hips stuttering as he spilled into you, clutching you close like he’d die if he let go.

You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep until you felt him shifting beneath you, his deep chuckle vibrating against your cheek still pressed to his chest.

The warmth between your legs ached in the sweetest way—day two of soreness, courtesy of him and his inability to behave.

But you weren’t mad. Not even close.

Your body was limp, spent, flushed and folded over his lap just where he’d left you.

He never even made it off the couch.

The plates were still in the kitchen—right where you’d left them.

The biscuits? Probably cold.

The eggs? Forgotten.

The only thing that got served this morning was you, and judging by the way you couldn’t even lift your head, he’d cleaned his plate.

“Mmhm. Look atchu,” he said softly, chuckling again as he gently cleaned you up with a warm towel he must’ve grabbed at some point—because God knows you didn’t feel him move.

You winced as he dabbed between your legs, making another little sound that made him smirk.

“Sore again?” he teased, that cocky grin painted across his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mumbled, too weak to lie convincingly.

He knew better. You both knew better.

He kissed your forehead, sliding his oversized shirt back over your shoulders and pulling it down gently, careful not to wake the little moan you were fighting in your throat.

Then he threw on his basketball shorts again, sat back down, and pulled you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

Blanket thrown lazily over your bodies, he balanced the plate of food on one knee, the remote in the other hand.

Your body in between.

You curled against him, eyes fluttering closed again, not a single care in the world. Bills? Work? Life? Whatever.

Right now all that mattered was the way he held you like you were the most important thing in the room—because to him, you were.

“You gon’ eat?” he asked, offering a fork of your cold eggs near your lips.

You turned your head and smiled lazily into his chest. “Mm-mm. Already full.”

He laughed again, kissing your temple.

“Yeah… I bet you are.”

[prettygrlwrld]

Don’t Let Go

Pair: Black male x Black female reader 

Genre: Friends to lovers, smut

Songs: Don’t Let Go - En Vogue Speechless - Beyonce

Warning: 18+

Summary: After a grueling semester in law school, you reconnect with your  longtime friend Maceon, who invites you to escape city life and recharge in the quiet of the country. What begins as a much-needed break turns intimate as years of unspoken tension finally erupt, leading to a powerful, emotional, and physical connection that neither of you can deny.

PART 2

Mace kissed you again, slower this time, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your hip. 

“C’mon,” he murmured against your lips, lacing his fingers with yours.

You followed him upstairs, heart pounding like it was trying to outrun your body.

He pushed the bathroom door open and gently guided you inside, glancing down the hallway one last time before clicking the lock with a deliberate flick of his wrist. His red, low eyes never left you.

You bit your lip—curious, buzzing. Mace had always been calm and calculated, but this wasn’t that. This was quiet urgency. A steady kind of hunger.

He was in front of you again, crowding your space without making you feel small.

Then he stepped in close, hands finding your waist like he’d done it a thousand times in his head. 

He lifted you onto the sink, your knees parting to let him stand between them. 

The marble counter was cool under your thighs, but his body radiated heat.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked, voice low like a secret.

“Know what?”

He tilted his head slightly, grabbing you by the chin to look in your eyes.  “That I been wantin’ you.”

You shrugged, studying his face. “You always playin’ around, how was I suppose’ to know”

He let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “That’s where ya’ wrong, babygirl.”

He looked at you deep in your eyes–holding your gaze like it anchored him. “Been waitin’ on you to see it.”

And when your lips met again, it wasn’t playful. It was real—hungry, honest, like time had finally caught up to the both of you.

Time slowed–it was like years collapsed into that one kiss. 

His mouth moved with purpose, his hands sliding up your shirt with quiet worship. He kissed up your neck, past your sweet spot, to your ear.

You threw your head back giving him full access. 

“You so pretty,” he breathed, pulling the shirt over your head like it was sacred. 

You bit your lip to suppress a moan, the sting of it sharp, sweet. His hands moved like he was learning every curve from scratch.

“I love your body… it’s perfect,” he whispered, his lips warm on the skin above your lace bra.

You were dripping, grinding against his hard print poking through his jeans. You could feel him, thick and twitching, just barely held back.

“I need you,” you gasped into his mouth.

He moaned in response, tongues tangling—moving together in a messy, gorgeous rhythm. Y’all grinded against the mirror, the glass trembling in protest. Neither of you cared.

But then—

The sharp slam of the screen door downstairs.

You froze. Both of you did, breath caught mid-kiss. The sound of voices floated up, snapping you back to earth.

The moment was broken… but not gone.

The rest of the evening passed in charged glances and subtle touches, like you were both tracking each other. 

Every brush of your arm against his, every second of eye contact across the yard, only stoked the fire.

Some of his family members had noticed, but none spoke a word–just exchanging curious looks and occasionally giggling. 

But we never noticed. 

As the night’s end came, you made sure to thank Mace’s grandparents and try to tell everyone ‘goodbye’ and thank them for their kindness before your departure. 

“Gone so soon, pretty girl?” his grandpa asked. 

Mace stalked nearby, nonchalant as usual–but his focus was clear. 

“Yes sir, I have to go back to work and prepare for next semester”, you laughed a little at his notion. 

“Well don’t be a stranger!”, his grandma exclaimed. “Yes ma’am” you nodded, walking to his car with him hot on your tail. 

He opened your door for your–as the true southern gentleman he is. 

In the car on the ride home, it was nearly unbearable. 

His hand rested on your thigh, thumb circling slow, lazy patterns on your skin while he kept his eyes on the road. 

En Vogue’s Don’t Let Go played low in the background. 

Adding fuel to an already well lit fire between your legs that you never wanted to extinguish. 

You clenched around nothing, thighs shifting restlessly.

When he pulled into the driveway and y’all made it inside, you didn’t even make it to the bedroom.

Once you stepped through the door he had you pinned to it.

Grabbing you gently, yet firm, by the neck making your look at him. 

You gave him the green light without uttering a word.

Mace kissed you hard, urgent, as you wrapped your legs around his waist, thighs clenching around him like you needed to pull him into your bloodstream.

You kissed him hard as he carried you to the bedroom, taking advantage of his focus on quickly  getting you to the bed. 

Kissing from his jaw to his neck, you breathed in his ear  “take my clothes off”. 

His eyes rolled as he growled in response, determined to make you his. 

You moaned in his mouth as his hands as he laid you down—fervently stripping you.

He stood over you for a minute, admiring your body laid out before him. 

He pulled his shirt over his head, crawling on top of you, pushing your legs to your chest so he hovered over you–gold chain dangling in your face as he lowered his lips to yours. 

Yearning to be against your skin. 

Excited, you met his lips–kissing him forcefully as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

He pulled away just slightly, dragging his tongue down your neck. Snaking his right hand behind your back to unhook your bra. 

You were trapped under his weight as his hands held you in place–folded like a lawn chair. 

He focused his attention on your breasts–nipples poking out like headlights. 

Swirling the left one in his mouth, ensuring not to neglect the right as he rubbed and tugged gently–earning 

Lost in ecstasy–he snuck his left hand past the edge of your panties to your heat. 

“Mace–”, you panted. 

“Tell daddy what you want me to do”, he said, picking his head up to look at you. 

Eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar–he chuckled darkly at his affect on you. 

“Use your words darlin’ ”, rubbing lazy circles around your clit. 

“Fuck me, baby please”, you begged. 

“Ya’ ain’t gotta ask me twice sweetheart”, making his way back to your lips. 

You both pulled at the buckle on his pants, fighting to get them off as quickly as possible. 

Once he was free, he tapped himself on your clit–still teasing your already hot body.  

A guttural moan came from deep within your throat. 

When he finally pushed in, he gasped—head falling to your shoulder, hands digging into your hips.

“Shit—you wet as fuck.”

You smirked, tugging him closer by the back of his neck until your lips brushed his ear. 

“I know.”, you whispered. 

He tucked his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly, adjusting the angle until he slid even deeper.

Your head fell back as he found your spot and stayed there, grinding into you like he was made to.

“Oh—fuck,” you gasped. “It’s so deep.”, you moaned, nails scraping down his back.

“I know,” he smiled cockily, voice thick as his lips crashed into yours.

You moaned in his mouth, taking all of him as best you could. 

But you were gonna cum any second–so you put your hands on his shoulders trying to relieve some pressure. 

“Don’t run now love, you takin’ it so good”, he said as he wrapped his right arm in the small of your back, grinding his hips right into yours. 

His praises poured over your skin like molasses.

“You so fuckin’ fine”, stroking steadily as your eyes rolled back. 

“Look at me babygirl, I wanna see them pretty eyes”, you struggled but you lazily looked up at him. 

“Good girl”, he smirked, hitting just a little harder. 

“You mine tonight, right?”

You didn’t answer—not out loud.

You just pulled him in harder, deeper, lips pressed to his like they were made to live there.

You already knew the answer.

And so did he.

“Mace please…oh my God I’m so close”, crying his name from the slight pain and pleasure.

He laces his left hand with yours, “this what you wanted right?” he said in between strokes. 

You nodded, “uh uh, use your words mama”, he said, slowing his pace. 

He could feel you squeezing him—signaling that you were close. 

“Yes”, you practically screamed. Yearning for him to pick his pace back up.

Instead he was kissing your neck, “I hear ya’ mama”, almost fully pulling out. 

“I gotchu love”, he whispered in my ear as he plunged back in deep–putting me in a trance. 

“Cum fa me”, was all you heard before your body was rock with an earth shattering orgasm. 

But he didn’t stop–riding your orgasm out until you saw stars. 

You clawed at his back, practically shouting from the rooftops. 

You could feel his body tensing, strokes getting sloppy, eyes shut tight–you knew he was close. 

You lifted his chin, making him look in your eyes, as you whispered “give it to me”. 

His head dropped to your shoulder as he groaned, pulling out just quick enough to nut on your stomach. *we do not condone children round these parts, lol*

He collapsed on your, both panting and breathing hard. Just living in the moment y’all had just had. 

Y’all laid there tangled up in each other, your body still twitching with aftershocks.

Mace let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand across his deep waves, glancing at you with a dazed grin.

“Damn… I really showed out, huh?”

You gave him a sleepy smirk. “Boy, if I could move, I’d slap you.”

He chuckled, tugging you closer. “Good thing you can’t.”

You nestled into his side, already feeling yourself drift.

“Shut up before I ask for round two.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Tags: @loudandobnoxiousxxxx, @xocherishxo,

[prettygrlwrld]

we have lost the art of steamy make outs and it makes me so sad!!

[prettygrlwrld]

Don’t Let Go

Pair: Black male x Black female reader 

Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff

Songs:

Warning: 18+

Summary: After a grueling year in law school, you reconnect with your  longtime friend Maceon, who invites you to escape city life and recharge in the quiet of the country. What begins as a much-needed break turns intimate as years of unspoken tension finally erupt, leading to a powerful, emotional, and physical connection that neither of you can deny. 

PART 1

Life is just too much sometimes—rent due soon, school is tiring, work is draining, car needs gas—it's as if it never stops. It was everything I ever asked for—L1 at Emory School of Law, working as an associate for Burns & Alexander, a top criminal defense firm, and a support system unlike any other—so I honestly can’t complain.

But sometimes, when you’re living the dream you don’t think to actually live and savor the blessings that you prayed for. 

“Y/N” Mr. Burns snapped me out of your dizzy haze.

“Go home, you clearly need some rest” he stated clearly, not looking up from the papers in his hand “I need you at your prime, not dozing off” he followed-up as he walked off.

Pushing your hair out of your face, you accepted defeat—you were truly exhausted with another final coming up—and gathered your things.

On your way to your car your phone rang, not looking just picking up, “Hello this is Y/N”, “Damn guh, you got that code switching thing down” said with a snicker–without looking at the contact you knew it was your goofy ass homeboy from college, Maceon.

You met Mace as a freshman at Alabama State University–y’alls roommates were friends and we all became this crew. As all freshman year friend groups, we fell out, but he stuck to your hip like grits. And you didn’t mind,  he was funny and easy to talk to.

“Boy why you call me playin’ on my phone” you staled in response, putting your car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Answer my facetime” he said, straight ignoring your question.

Popping the phone in the car holder, you answered. There he was–sweaty, in a white tank top, dirty jeans, and a freshly opened corona.

You focused on the road ahead, merging onto the highway, “well you clean up mighty nice Michellel Obama” he jeered.

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. This boy is so unserious, you thought.

“What do you want, Maceon?” you asked, using his full name.

He smiled, taking a sip of his beer. “Why you look like that?” he asked, again ignoring your question.

“Like what?” you retorted, looking at him as traffic slowed to a stand still. 

“Like Lady Life whoopin’ your ass” he said chuckling.

“Boy fuck you, I work my ass off. God forbid a girl need a break!” you said jokingly with a huge smile, trying to hide your true exhaustion.

“You need to get out the city. When’s your next break?” he asked, sitting up, eyes locked on you through the phone.

“I take my last final tomorrow, then I’m done for the semester, but I gotta work” you said redirecting your attention to the road, hoping he’d just let it go.

Of course not—this is Mace.

“Fuck allat, come out here for a couple days—take a load off, get some fresh air, ground yourself wit nature n shit or whatever they be saying” he said rolling a blunt. 

That’s how it all started, you were quite the pothead in undergrad and that’s a big reason y’all stayed so close. 

Random late-night smoke sessions, finding little hideouts around campus or parks in Montgomery—it didn’t matter where. Y’all would always lose track of time, talking about everything under the sun.

You could always count on each other—whether to vent or drop random facts.

“I can’t just up and leave Mace”, you sighed. 

“You act like the world gon’ fall apart if you disappear for three days,” Mace said, turning his face up, voice low, but steady through the phone. 

“Y/N, you always ‘on.’ School, work, court, life—girl, you barely breathe. You say you can’t just up and leave, but maybe that’s exactly why you need to. You done poured into everybody else, now you runnin’ on fumes and still tryna sprint. Nah. Come out here. Ain’t nobody askin’ you to go ghost, just… pause. Get out the noise. Let some wind hit your face that ain’t comin’ from a courtroom door slammin’. Ground yourself again. The grind gon’ be there when you get back—but you won’t enjoy none of it if you burn out before the bar exam.” 

“Ok ok” you said slightly embarrassed, “I got it. When can I come?”, you asked looking down at the pandora bracelet on your wrist. 

“Bring ya’ big head ass this weekend” he grinned, rubbing his hands together. “That way ya’ ass can’t chicken out.”

“Nigga fuck you!” you taunted shaking your head in the camera with a smile and flipping him off.

“Yea whateva, you heard me” he laughed back. 

“Aight I’m finna go take this nap before class” you chuckled pulling off the highway, looking back at the phone. 

You hadn’t noticed him leaning forward on his forearms, tanned and more muscular than you remembered, his full attention on you.

“Ight, I’ma send you the address. Let me know when you on the road.”

“I neva agreed to–” 

“Do it sound like I’m playin’ wit you guh?” he cut you off. 

“Go take ya’ nap, bookie” he waived with a sarcastic smile, hanging up in your face.

The next day felt like the last mile of a marathon—finals, cleared. Mr. Burns gave me the day off for "extra rest". Energy? Shot.

You didn’t even have the strength to text Mace back, you just threw your duffle bag of random outfits in the backseat of your Volkswagen Jetta and started driving.

Three hours of country roads, gas station snacks, and massive cotton fields later, you finally pulled into a long, cracked driveway, leading to a cozy country home with a wraparound porch at the front.

He was waiting on the porch—black Nike slides, grey sweatpants, shirtless, durag—grinning with a half-smoked blunt hanging from his lips.

“You look like you just got drafted for the Hunger Games,” you said as you stepped out, stretching your arms above your head.

“And you look like you need a week of sleep and two shots of tequila,” he quipped, hopping off the porch. “Why I had to track you like a hound?” he said, trapping you against the car. 

"You got my location. If you was lookin' fa me, you coulda found me" you shrugged. 

"Yea, but I specifically told ya' to text me" he said looking down at you with those almost hazel brown eyes. 

Taking in his unusually large frame–standing at six feet, tanned a burnt caramel color, tatted chest and arms–his woody cologne mixed with the smell of smoke intoxicated your nostrils. 

A familiar scent you didn’t know you’d missed. 

You put your hand in his chest creating some space, "I'm grown as the fuck, and last I checked I only got one daddy" you rolled your eyes opening the back door to get your bag. 

You could feel his eyes tracking you as he leaned on the door behind you–assuredly staring at your ass. 

You blushed a little from his protective actions. You could never figure out if he was your over protective brother or boyfriend. He never explicitly expressed interest, so you always brushed it off.  

The next day in Decatur didn’t feel real—time moved like molasses, sweet and slow, stretching out between deep breaths and long stares. 

You didn’t do much of anything except trail behind Mace like a shadow, watching how he moved through his world with quiet command. 

He showed you how his family’s farm operated—where the goats liked to hide when it was hot, how to check a horse’s hooves without getting kicked, and which of the barn dogs would follow you for snacks and not loyalty.

You watched as he lifted bales of hay and fixed little things–from machinery to fences. 

Mace wouldn’t accept any help, he just wanted to make sure you were getting the break he felt you’d earned. 

“You hea’ to rest, not to prove nun,” he said one morning, brushing sawdust off your shoulder. 

So you rested. 

You followed him around in his slides, sipping sweet tea from a mason jar, letting the thick southern air loosen the knots in your chest.

By Saturday evening, the sun was sliding down behind the trees and the whole family was posted up at his grandma’s house. 

You could hear laughter and the clatter of pots through the open kitchen window. 

Inside, the grown folks were loud—arguing over dominoes and who made the best potato salad. 

But outside, on the back patio, the young crew had taken over. 

A cooler of beer sat in the corner, kids ran wild through the yard with two hyper mutts on their heels, and the sky was that perfect mix of lavender and gold.

You were tucked into one of the lawn chairs, half-listening to a debate about who could really cook and who just posted cute plates on Instagram, when the conversation shifted—like it always does—to relationships.

“I’m just sayin’,” one of Mace’s cousins, a sharp-tongued girl with box braids and curly lashes, leaned in, “niggas love to lie and say they don’t got a type.”

“Facts,” another cousin added, grabbing a beer. 

“They always say that until they get caught up with three girls that look just alike.”

“Bullshit” on of the larger male cousins muttered. 

You sipped slow, letting the moment stretch before chiming in, “Shit, you got an example right in front of you”, you nodded towards Mace.

That made a few heads turn—Mace raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” his messy cousin instigated, cheshire grin, amused.

You didn’t flinch. Just shrugged, calm and casual. “Mmhmm. Skinny, brown-skinned girls with curly fros or starter locs. The ‘earthy baddie’ starter pack. And don’t even try to deny it.”

The group erupted in laughter.

You weren’t mad though. You said it matter-of-fact, like someone pointing out the weather. 

You knew who you were—soft, thick, fairer-skinned, laid edges and a fresh sew-in. You weren’t his usual, and you were okay with that.

But he looked at you longer than necessary, brows furrowed just slightly—like he was trying to figure something out.

That’s when one of his older cousins, slick and always ready with the roast, grinned and added, “Man, Mace used to date them white girls heavy back at Central. He prolly still don’t know what to do wit nun homegrown.”

More laughter. Louder this time.

Mace just smirked and sipped his beer, never taking his eyes off you.

And somehow, in that moment, you knew—whatever his type was, he hadn’t stopped watching you since you got there.

Later that night, Mace and his older cousins manned the grill like it was tradition. 

Smoke curled into the night sky, mixing with laughter, music, and the scent of charcoal and spice. 

The yard buzzed—people eating off paper plates, kids passing out from too much running, couples slow dancing barefoot in the grass. It was one of those scenes that felt too perfect to be real.

You slipped inside for a break, the hum of the box fan in the window offering a little reprieve from the heat and the noise. 

The kitchen was dimly lit, quiet. 

You opened the fridge, grabbed a water, and leaned against the counter, trying to cool off.

Then you heard the screen door creak behind you.

Mace.

You didn’t have to look. You felt him.

The air changed when he walked in—got thick, like it was holding its breath.

He didn’t say anything at first. 

Just walked past you, slow, to grab a beer from the fridge. 

But you could feel his eyes tracing you. Taking inventory.

“You good?” he finally asked, low and easy.

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, not trusting your voice.

He closed the fridge, leaned against it, and looked you up and down like he was trying to read something off your skin.

“You thought I wasn’t attracted to you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

You turned your head toward him, heart thudding in your chest. “I thought you were playin’.”

He pushed off the fridge, slow, deliberate, like a decision had finally been made. He walked up behind you, close enough that his body heat wrapped around you.

He shook his head, lips grazing your shoulder. “That was your problem this whole time?”

His hands were warm when they found your waist, and you let him. Let the silence bloom around you, thick with everything unsaid.

“I don’t assume shit, Mace,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands, unsure of what to do with them.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t speak.

He just slipped one hand up your arm, fingertips brushing your skin, slow like a question.

“I been tryin’ not to cross this line with you,” he said finally, his breath hot against your neck, “but you makin’ it hard as hell, Y/N.”

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes. The kitchen light caught the amber in them, and for the first time, he looked unsure.

“I didn’t come here for this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, turning you around. “But maybe you needed it anyway.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face to his. And in that second, the distance between you felt like an insult.

Then his lips were on yours—soft at first, like a secret. Then firmer, deeper, like he’d been holding it in for years.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “Tell me to stop… or I’m not lettin’ you go tonight.”

You didn’t say a word.

You didn’t need to.

Your silence was loud enough.

Note: Trying to work on building to the smut. Next part coming soon.

Tag List: @marley1773, @hrlzy, @childishgambinaax, @christinabae, @ispywithmylileye, @browngirldominion

[prettygrlwrld]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[prettygrlwrld]

Sins of Desire

Pair: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black female reader 

Genre: Sinners, angsty, love/hate relationship, horny teenage

Warning: 18+

Summary: the “Smoke Stack” Twins just did a violently robbed the Clarksdale First National Bank and Stack comes to you to lay low for a couple days until their boat leaves for Chicago.

*PART 2*

Looking at the ground, trying to count the grain marks in the wood floors—anything to extinguish the fire creepin’ between our hips—but as I already knew, it would never be that easy with him.

Pickin’ my chin up with his calloused thumb and index finger, I looked into his deep brown, abyss-like eyes and gave in to the devil himself. It was like helplessly fallin’ into God knows what—but I didn’t care, not if it meant fallin’ with him.

His thumb ran over my bottom lip, then slipped into the wetness of my mouth. I instinctively swirled my tongue around it, suckin’ like it was an ice cube on a hot summer day. He towered over me, watchin’—silent, intense—as I licked and sucked like my life depended on it, makin’ sure to look up at him through my lashes. I needed him to know I was done pretendin’. I wanted him. Desperately.

His other hand snaked around my waist, loosening the strings of my dress, exposin’ my full breasts. I gasped as the cool evening air kissed my chocolate nipples.

He took in the sight like he’d been starvin’ for it, then gently ran his hand down my back—from the nape of my neck to the small of my spine, down to the cup of my ass—grippin’ hard before pressin’ those big, sweet lips against mine. Our mouths met in a frenzy, tongues slidin’, teeth clashin’, a rhythm we never forgot.

I melted against him, lettin’ his fire consume me whole. Next thing I knew, he lifted me like nothin’, my legs wrappin’ tight around his waist.

“Oh, Stack,” I moaned when he ground into me just right—just enough to stir every ache I’d buried since he walked through my door.

“Skin still soft as ever,” he whispered between kisses down my neck, lips trailin’ lower with each word. “And still wet for me.”

“God…” I cried out, loud as thunder crackin’ above us, the storm rollin’ in. Rain began tappin’ on the tin roof, quick and steady, joinin’ the rhythm brewin’ between us. The heat we were makin’ would fog every window in this lil shotgun house before sunrise.

“Mhm,” he hummed, seemin’ satisfied—but he wanted more. With a rough tenderness, he peeled the rest of my ragged house dress off my shoulders. The worn cotton slipped down and pooled at my hips.

He walked me backwards to the dinner table, pushin’ aside plates, cups, and my sewing kit like nothin’ else mattered. I kissed up his jawline to his neck, nibblin’ light on his ear, breathin’ out between kisses, “I need you.”

He laid me down across the table, the cool wood meetin’ the curve of my back, his hands grippin’ my thighs and pushin’ them open like a man claimin’ land.

And then his mouth was on me—takin’ his time like he was readin’ scripture. He licked slow, then fast, tongue writin’ his name against my heat—like he was branding cattle…claimin’ what was his.  I gripped the table, head thrown back, legs tremblin’, moanin’ his name like a hymn. 

He swirled his tongue aroudn my clit—lickin’ and bitin’—I screamed to the heavens above. 

Pushing his rough, thick index and middle finger deep into my heat, causin’ my back to arch like this was an excorcism. 

My breath hitched when he curled his fingers and hit my spot—the one he knew like the Mississippi backroads. I could feel his cocky smile on my skin as he slurped on my wetness, coaxing various curse words from your lips—as a quiet church girl that was unlike me but he knew only he could make me wet as the river only a couple miles away. 

I came with a cry so loud it nearly drowned out the rain.

But that didn’t stop him—I was leaking like a faucet, so in ecstasy I ain’t realize it—and he wanted every drop.

Barely coming down from my high, I slid off the table, droppin’ to my knees in front of him.

I looked up at him, lips parted, taking in his serious, lustful demeanor, contrary to his playful and charismatic southern charm.

I pushed myself up on my knees to kiss him, wanting to taste my own sweetness. Gracing my hand underneath his tank top to rub on his perfect set of abs, covered in small scars and deep wounds—no doubt from the war and his mischievous tendencies since his return. 

I kissed on his chest, focusing on those marks. I wanted Elias, the same boy who’d chased me after church, whose voice sounded angelic to my ears—but he was a man and the man he chose to be was “Stack” of the Smokestack Twins. 

But that ain’t who I spent nights praying on my knees and lay before the church altar for—well, I guess I have. But I want Elias Moore.

I placed butterfly kisses down his abdomen, licking along his perfect v line. Teasing him like he did me, which I knew he hated, but I wanted those walls down—even if I had to knock them down like hurricane winds coming off the gulf. 

I pulled his pants down, takin’ him in my mouth slow and steady. He let out a groan, head fallin’ back as my lips wrapped around him. I sucked him deep, takin’ my time, hands workin’ what my mouth couldn’t, watchin’ his face as I gave him the same pleasure he just gave me.

“Shit… you gon’ be the death of me, girl,” he moaned, his hands in my hair, guidin’ my rhythm.

When he couldn’t take no more, he pulled me up and turned me around, bendin’ me over the same table he just worshipped me on.

He slid inside me from behind in one hard stroke, and I damn near cried. His hands gripped my hips like he owned ‘em, poundin’ into me so deep, so good, I had no words—only moans. Every thrust sent me higher, my breasts brushin’ the wood, cheek against the table, legs shakin’.

“Say my name,” he growled, smackin’ my ass with just enough sting to make me clench around him.

“Stack,” I moaned, pushing his buttons. He pulled out, leaving just the tip. 

I pushed back on him, yearning to be filled by him, to feel his body heat, but to no avail. 

“Stop playin’ wit me”, as he laid a hard smack on my ass, just barely sliding back in and pulling out.

“Elias, baby please—” I moaned breathlessly. 

“There’s ma’ girl” he coached as he slammed his full length into me, hitting my spot. I didn’t have to tell him as he knew my body all too well. 

When he was near the edge, he flipped me over, crawled on top of me, and slid back inside with a groan. This time it was slow. Deep. Our fingers laced together, his forehead restin’ on mine, mouths barely brushin’.

I wrapped my thick thighs around his torso, pulling him closer. He buried his head in my neck, touching my soul with his tip.

This was no longer about lust.

This was love—buried, bruised, messy—but real.

And in that moment, we belonged to nobody but each other.

⸻

The storm had passed, leavin’ behind wet earth and a sky turnin’ soft orange.

He was gettin’ dressed in silence, bucklin’ his holster, shirt hangin’ off one shoulder. I sat on the edge of the bed, sheet wrapped ‘round me, watchin’ him.

“Here you go leavin’ me again,” I said, shakin’ my head, my voice barely holdin’ steady.

He turned, walked over, and put his hand under my chin, liftin’ my face gently with his thumb until my eyes met his.

“Don’t do that now, love,” he said, eyes warm but heavy. “I’ll be back fa ya. And next time,” he paused, leanin’ in close, “I’ll be takin’ you out this house. Ya hear me?”

I nodded, a tear spillin’ down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb, wipin’ it away slow like he wanted to memorize the shape of my sadness.

Then he kissed my forehead, tucked his gun under his coat, and walked out the door—leavin’ behind the scent of smoke, sweat, and sin.

But in my bones, I knew he meant it.

He was comin’ back.

For me.

Tag List: @marley1773, @hrlzy, @childishgambinaax, @christinabae, @ispywithmylileye, @browngirldominion

[prettygrlwrld]

[prettygrlwrld]

Sins of Desire

Pair: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black female reader

Genre: Sinners, angsty, love/hate relationship, horny teenage

Warning: 18+, mostly background/fluff

Summary: the “Smoke Stack” Twins just did a violent robbed the Clarksdale First National Bank and Stack comes to you to lay low for a couple days until their boat leaves for Chicago.

PART 1

It was a muggy day in the Mississippi Delta for it be February. The sky was swallowed up by thick gray clouds, and though the smell of rain was distant, the air was heavy with promise. I was fixin’ a bit of food for the road—some cornbread, cold chicken, and pickles—for Ma to take on her trip to Memphis. She was headed up there to buy new fabrics for the shop.

Ma’s the seamstress ‘round here. Patches up old field clothes and makes church dresses for trade. Lately she’s been dreamin’ of doin’ her own designs, and I been helpin’ her sketch ‘em out.

But we only had enough money for one bus ticket, so she went on ahead, leavin’ me to mind the house and finish up the work.

“Aight now, girl,” she said, slingin’ her pocketbook over her shoulder. “I’ma be gone till Saturday evenin’, back in time for church. You finish the Jones boy’s shoes and Miss Doris’ skirt, y’hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, “I’ll have it done ‘fore supper.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, I was sittin’ by the back window, hand-stitchin’ Doris’ skirt. The light came in just right at that angle. The hum of cicadas buzzed low, and the wind stirred the tall wheat in the field out back. I thought I heard shufflin’—soft, cautious. Didn’t sound like Mr. Jones. That man walked like he was stompin’ on sin itself.

Maybe it was just my nerves. The house always feel different when you’re alone. I muttered a prayer and bent back over my needle.

Then I heard it.

“You sho’ you gon be safe here?”

My hands froze. That voice—low, smooth like molasses—but it curled in my ear like smoke.

I stood up slow and walked to the corner, picked up my daddy’s shotgun, and backed against the wall near the back door. I kept the barrel pointed straight, sweatin’ like a sinner in church.

And then, creak.

The back steps.

I peered through the mesh screen and there he was—Stack.

Sweaty, bloodied, shirt torn, and lookin’ like the devil just kissed his cheek. Elias “Stack” Moore. Lord help me.

He pushed the screen open careful, lookin’ around like he wasn’t sure if anyone was home.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I stepped out from behind the wall, raised the gun to his back.

“Elias, what you doin’ sneakin’ ‘round here?” I asked flat.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn ‘round.

A slow grin pulled at his lips.

“Hi darlin’,”he said, voice slicker than church shoes on a wet floor. “I just needa lay low a couple days, ma. Nothin’ more.”

I studied him, tight-jawed. He had that same look in his eye he always had when we were kids—like he already got what he came for and was just waitin’ on you to realize it.

“You bring the law to my doorstep and I swear fo’ God—”

Before I could finish, he spun ‘round, slapped the barrel aside, and pressed me to the wall so fast I barely had time to curse.

“Relax,” he whispered, leanin’ in close. “Heard your mama gon to Memphis… Thought I’d come see ma’ girl.”

My breath caught.

Stack had always been trouble—but the kind you couldn’t stay away from. First kiss, first mistake, first heartbreak. And now he was standin’ there, pressed against me like no time had passed, like the blood on his shirt wasn’t still warm.

I shoulda pushed him off of me, slapped him for even showing up on my doorstep on the run from the law and if I had any good sense I wouldn’t allow him to pull me into his mess.

But all I could do was breathe—slowly taking in his intoxicating scent.

He had my back pressed against the wall staring so deep into my eyes he could see the soul that he’s stolen so many times before. Hovering over me, one hand on the wall above my head, the other lightly applying pressure on my hip as if he was reminding me that he knew my body.

“Why here Stack?” I whispered, not daring to meet his unrelenting gaze. “Why me?”

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel his breath on my neck—sending sinful shivers down my spine.

“’Cause you the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t already halfway in hell.”

God, what is this man doing to me?

He knew just what to say to make my knees go soft and my heart stupid. I hated him for that. Hated how his voice made me remember summer nights behind the church, bare feet in red dirt, the way he used to say my name like it was a song he didn’t know all the words to but kept hummin’ anyway.

“You ain’t stayin’ long,” straightening my shoulders, “by sunrise Saturday mornin’ you betta’ be gon and I mean it!” trying to maintain any semblance of control over the situation.

He smiled—half grateful, half smug. “Yes ma’am.”

He lingered for a moment, just staring down at me before he chuckled taking a seat at the table.

“You still got that cot out by the well house?” he asked, eyes driftin’ to the side room.

“It’s dusty,” I muttered.

“I ain’t picky.”

⸻

We didn’t talk much as I fixed him a plate—cold cornbread, beans, and the last of the ham. He watched me move around the kitchen like he used to, like he’d never left, like this wasn’t a damn crime scene waitin’ to happen.

“You still hum when you sew?” he asked after a minute.

I shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m rememberin’.”

He leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, one leg draped over the other, that same crooked smile that once made me ruin a good Sunday dress behind the tool shed.

I hated how much I wanted to sit on his lap and slap him at the same time.

When he finished eatin’, I handed him a towel and told him he best get washed up before he bled on the floor. He nodded, unbuckled the gun and holster strapped to his back, and laid it gentle on the kitchen table like it was holy. Then headed out back to the pump, barefoot, leavin’ faint drops of blood behind him on the porch wood

I watched him through the screen door as he stripped off his shirt and poured water over his head, muscles flexin’ like sin itself. The blood ran off him slow, pink in the basin. He winced a little—bullet must’ve grazed him—but not enough to stop him.

I quickly diverted my attention, hummin’ ole hymns to steady myself , hands scrubbin’ dishes that were already clean. The heat between my legs said otherwise, but I wasn’t gonna let him know I noticed.

Not yet.

I pulled out clean linens for the cot, tried to busy my mind, but then I heard the screen door creak and that unmistakable sound of him behind me—barefoot, quiet, intentional.

He came back in with just a tank top and some pants—showing off those strong arms that could take protect you from anything, sculpted by defined veins that could carry any burden—even yours.

Your back was turned, but you could feel the sinister smirk on his face.

“You still him when you nervous?”, he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. But he be wouldn’t be Stack if not for his pompous asshole tendencies—like that of a child who teases a girl instead of telling her he likes her.

“You still get on my nerves?” I retorted, attempting to mask my nervous habits that he painstakingly remembered.

He chuckled darkly—causing you to cautiously glance over your shoulder—and there he was sizin’ you up, like he you were standing naked infront of him although you were fully clothed.

“The cot’s ready”, you muttered as you tried to slip past him—but I didn’t get far before I landed in those big, warm arms.

“Two days,” you warned, but it came out softer than I meant it to.

“That’s all I need,” he murmured, still lookin’ at you like you were his last prayer—searching for a sign that you were still his.

⸻

Note: I wrote this at like 2 AM because I couldn’t sleep. We gone see if it’s worth finishing 😂.

[prettygrlwrld]

Long Day

Pair: Black male x Black female reader

Genre: light smut, high tension

Warning: 18+, fingering, hair pulling, oral (female receiving)

Note: this is my first time ever writing so lmk if I should take this seriously 😌

Song:

You opened the door to the apartment y’all shared, coming in and slipping off your heels. The smell of good food and the vocal hums of Jill Scott let you know he was in the kitchen, making what was undoubtedly a delicious meal.

Sneaking up on his large frame from behind, you took in the strong scent of his cologne and the perfect view of his muscular back in a wife-beater. Gently touching his arm to make your presence known, you trailed kisses across his broad shoulders and up his neck, finishing behind his ear—his sweet spot.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered.

He melted into your arms at the sound of your soft voice, lightly turning his head to kiss your lips.

“How was your day, ma?” he asked, lowering the heat on the stove to turn around and lift you by your waist to sit on the counter.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, beginning to ramble about long meetings, office gossip, and the rude interactions you had as he watched your face intently, asking instigating questions—just so he could continue to hear you talk. He swore he could listen to you talk all day. And the more you talked, the more handsy he got.

Eventually saying, “Baby, you sound so uptight and stressed out. Let me take some of that off you.” His voice dropped as he kissed you softly, massaging your thighs.

You nodded, trying to hold back a moan as his lips traveled down your neck. You gave in to his dominance—one of the many reasons y’all were so compatible. He was a natural leader. His presence could always be felt, which pulled the brat out of you, always tempting you to push his buttons so he’d fuck you through the mattress… but today wasn’t the day for that. You had been missing him and his sexy ass lips all day.

You hungrily grab his face and kiss him deeply—trying to speed up the process, but he slaps your now bare thigh as he has pushed the hem of your dress up into your hips. Giving him direct access to your heat, which he was not taking advantage of. He bit your lip—causing a slight pain that sent a wonderful shiver down your spine— and slapped the same spot later massaging the slightly red skin. Sending you the clear signal to stop rushing him, as he evidently wanted to take his time.

He leaned up a little—gently pulling your hair as he bit his lip, eyes locked on yours, while his other hand gripped your thigh again.

“Somebody’s excited, huh?” he said smugly, a smirk plastered on his face cause he knows you hate being mocked.

In retaliation, you slapped him lightly on the chest and slid your hand down into his gray jogging pants, just on the outside of the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, pulling a groan from deep in his throat.

“Stop playing with me, baby. It’s been a long day,” you practically begged, whispering into his ear while massaging his bulge.

He leaned forward, chest to chest, pressing his weight against you and closing the little space left between y’all. He grabbed you by the throat and pressed his now-hard dick into your wetness, coaxing a loud moan from your lips—one that made him chuckle.

“You such a lil spoiled brat, you come home and I wanna take care of you like a princess and tenderly soothe all your stress away,” as his thumb massaged the side of your neck, “but you too stubborn to ask me like a good girl.”

His left hand kneaded your thigh, slowly drawing you into a trance. “Now I’m gonna handle this kitchen—you gon strip and wait fa me in the room.”

With another hard smack to your thigh, you nodded, hopped down, and turned around for him to unzip your dress. Ever so slightly pushing your ass into him—earning another groan “you lookin’ fa a problem and ima give it ya” he said through gritted teeth as you felt his dick jump in his pants. You walk off, swaying your hips so that your butt jiggles a little as you walk, teasing him, knowing full well he was watching.

Which is exactly what you wanted.

You walked through the bathroom and into your walk-in closet, stripping down to your underwear. You stopped in the bathroom mirror taking down your claw clip to release your curly tresses and fluff them out before making your way to y’all’s king-sized bed.

Seconds later, you look up hearing his footsteps to see him pulling his tank top over his head, exposing that chiseled , chocolate body that made you drool.

“You like what you see?” he asked, running a hand over his tattooed chest.

God, you hated when he got cocky—but damn it he has a handsome face to match his beautiful body and his tall stature was absolutely divine. He stood across the room watching you like you are his prey. You bask in it, panties soaked from the tension. In a fearless moment you leaned back on the edge of the bed, slowly and seductively spreading your legs, one hand propping you up while the other explored your body.

You were teasing him—caressing your hips and thighs, groping your breasts, and twisting your nipples, turning yourself on more and more. You began moaning his name, so in heat that you hadn’t realized that he had walked over and was standing above you, watching you pleasure yourself to the thought of him.

“Fuck, baby,” you muttered. “I guess I gotta take care of myself.”

You rubbed yourself through your panties, then he finally gave in—taking one hand and putting your hands above your head, using the other to pull off your panties. He hungrily kissed your lips—a battle that he quickly won—rubbing hard circles on your clit whispering on your lips, “darlin’ you make it so hard to be gentle with you.” “Why you come in here fuckin wit me, huh?”

You moaned, no longer able to hold back, still aching for more of him—every inch of him and the delicious, dangerous way he touched you.

“Uh uh, you was bad earlier”, you were a moaning mess, “talk to me mama, tell me how you want”, as he slowly pushed a finger into your wet abyss. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head in ecstasy—mouth open but nothing was coming out.

“Tell me how you want it”, steadily dry humping your body, watching your body’s reaction to every word and touch.

“Fuck”, you yelled, “I…I want you to fuck me daddy” you breathlessly mumbled.

Happily obliging, he pushed his right two fingers deep inside your heat instantly finding your spot and attacking it. Using his left hand to sneak under you to unclamp your bra and release your voluptuous breasts. Taking one nipple in his mouth—swirling his tounge and biting at your sensitivity—causing you to see stars.

“Mhm… come to papa”, using his right thumb to rub circles on your clit and he continually stroked your pussy.

You tried to hold out, clinching your pelvis to squeeze his fingers. But he caught on—sliding a third finger in your pussy—his deep, country accent coaching you to your brink. “Relax baby, gimme allat or ima fuck it out of you” unrelentingly pounding you with his fingers.

With a loud gasp, your body stiffened and you could feel your high coming—so could he. He went into overdrive—curling his fingers into your g-spot, laying open mouth kisses all over your neck, slapping and massaging your titties. “I can feel you mama, cum fa me” was all you heard before your legs started shaking, eyes rolling back, screaming his name.

But that didn’t stop him, he kept going coaxing you through your orgasm finishing by licking you clean. You pull him to you kissing him hard, tasting yourself on his lips. “I’m sorry papa, I really needed that”, you said trying to ease your man—who wasn’t impressed by your apology. “Yea you gon be sorry when I’m done—turn over”, he said smacking your ass.

[prettygrlwrld]

i’m considering writing, i’m never done something like this before but have felt kind of drawn to it. i am looking for CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.