9. Pluto Monroe #2
I pressed a few numbers that felt right, but the screen blinked red, signaling that I got it wrong. I tried again, slower this time, breathing through my nose as I whispered the digits under my breath, but it kept going red.
“Where you finna go?”
Suddenly, I froze…
My hand was still hovering over the keypad when I turned slowly. Pressure was standing behind me, shirtless, his tattoos looking darker in the soft hallway light. I didn’t even hear him come down the hall. His voice was low but sharp, like he already knew the answer.
I stood up too fast and wiped my palms on my sweats. “Look… I ain’t tryna make a scene or nothin’… I just can’t stay.”
He tilted his head like he ain’t believe me. “Yeah, you can.”
“No,” I said quietly, “I can’t.”
His eyes dropped to my suitcase and then back to me. “Why?”
“My sister’s sick, and not bein’ able to call my people whenever I need to just—” I paused and looked down at the floor. “It don’t sit right with me.”
He didn’t say anything at first. He stepped a little closer, still watching me like I was something he was tryna figure.
“You coulda asked to talk to me,” he finally said. “Instead of runnin’ off in the middle of the night like you bein’ held hostage or some shit.”
I didn’t say anything. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes on the box.
“Go grab your bag,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, “and bring it up to the second floor. You sleepin’ in my room tonight.”
That made me turn around quick. “What?”
“I don’t trust yo’ ass not to sneak off again,” he said, already walking past me. “You think I ain’t see how you be watchin’ everything? You the one I gotta keep closest.”
I hesitated, but something in his tone made my feet move. I picked up my suitcase and followed him.
The stairs felt longer than usual. My legs were heavy, but my thoughts were heavier.
I couldn’t tell if I was scared, confused, or flattered.
Hell, maybe I was all three. The closer I got to his room, the more aware I became that this was Pressure.
Not just the rich dude all the girls were thirsty over, or the man with a gold chain that probably cost more than my daddy’s old house used to.
This was him, up close, at night, with no witnesses and no safety net.
When he opened the door to his room, it was like stepping into another world.
The lights were low, but I could still see everything.
Royal blue velvet curtains hung heavy over tall windows, brushing against the marble floors like they were too regal to stay still.
The walls were trimmed in gold and deep grey, with hand-carved panels that looked like they belonged in a palace.
The bed was massive, high above the floor, dressed in layers of navy sheets and pillows so plush they looked fake.
A gold tray sat on a mirrored bar built into the wall, beside a tall sculpture of a black lion with glowing eyes.
Everything in the room was so expensive, I was overwhelmed just from looking at it.
“Sit on the bed,” he said, walking over to the bar and grabbing a bottle.
I sat, but moved slow. My thighs were tensed and my hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting.
He picked up a bottle from his bar and glanced at me with that same unreadable look. “You still drink, or you was just tryna look grown the other night?”
I gave a small shrug. “I drink, but it depends on the mood.”
He poured me a glass and brought it over, then sat beside me and started rolling up like it was second nature.
When he lit it, the smell hit fast. It was sweet, strong and loud as hell.
Just from the smell of the smoke alone, you knew this wasn’t no regular gas.
I hadn’t even touched it, but I already felt it working its way through the room.
It mags my body relax a little without me meaning to.
I took a sip of the drink and looked around again, still trying to process being in here with him.
Pressure leaned back a little and looked at me. “What’s wrong with your sister?”
I looked down at my lap, twisting the glass between my fingers.
“She has Chiari malformation,” I said. “Her brain pushes down into her spine. It causes seizures, numbness and sometimes she can’t walk right… she’s had it since she was three.”
Pressure nodded, his eyes locked on me.
“She had a bad episode right before I came here,” I added. “That’s why it’s hard for me to just chill and be all smiles. She needs me, and not bein’ able to call, not even knowing if she slept okay… it messes with me.”
“So, if you know you got all that goin’ on, why come here in the first place?” He asked.
The question made my stomach twist a little, because if he knew I was here for money, that shit could change his whole mood toward me. I had to play it cool and keep my tone cool.
“I don’t mind being here,” I said. “Even with everything going on, I thought I could handle it, but if I can’t check on my sister when I need to… then yeah, it makes me wanna go.”
He didn’t say anything right away, just let the words sit between us.
“Where your mom and dad at?” he finally asked.
I looked down at my glass before answering.
“My mama… she’s sick,” I said softly. “She’s been dealing with stuff for a while now, and my daddy ain’t really dependable like that. So it’s just me.”
He didn’t respond to anything I said, but passed the blunt to me instead.
I took a slow pull and let it settle in my chest before exhaling.
The smoke was smooth, but it hit deep. In seconds, it started peeling the tension off me like layers I didn’t even know I had on.
My shoulders dropped, and my thoughts slowed down completely.
That edge I’d been carrying since I got here started to fade as if it couldn’t stand up to the calm that was taking over my mind and body.
It didn’t just relax me, but it shifted something in me.
It was like I was seeing everything differently.
Pressure’s room looked even richer. The gold accents caught the light in a way I hadn’t noticed when I first walked in.
It was like the whole space had a heartbeat.
The blues looked deeper, and even marble beneath our feet felt like it was part of something bigger.
I looked over at Pressure and forgot I was supposed to be nervous.
He was leaned back, watching me the way men do when they already know you feelin’ them. The way his eyes moved across my face, then down to my lips, then back again… it made my skin feel hot. It was like he was seeing through everything I was trying to hold together.
He didn’t smile, and barely blinked. He just stared at me like he was tryna bring my love down with just his eyes, like he already knew how I’d taste, how I’d sound and how I’d fall apart underneath him.
My thighs pressed together before I even realized it, and for the first time, I didn’t want to hold it together.
“You good now?” he asked, his voice low as his tongue dragged slow across his bottom lip.
I nervously nodded. “Yeah.”
He leaned in closer, still staring. “You scared of me?”
I shook my head. “No,” I lied.
He didn’t say nothing at first. He let his eyes drift over me again, like he was sizing up every reaction, and breath I took.
His tattoos flexed with every slow move he made, and his skin looked like gold under the lights.
Even the scent of him was dark, clean, and fine as hell and it was starting to mess with my head.
Pressure wasn’t just looking at me. He was pulling something out of me without laying a finger, and there was no hiding from it. The way he sat there, calm and quiet, had my whole body tuned in to his. Every breath, every blink and every inch of him looked better the longer I stared.
And he knew exactly what he was doing.
Somehow, we started laughing about something. I don’t remember what he said exactly, but it made me cover my mouth and lean into him. Then he kissed me.
His mouth crashed into mine, his tongue sliding past my lips like I was already his wife.
It was deep, wet, and messy in all the right ways.
His hand stayed locked on my waist, holding me still as his tongue moved with purpose, licking into me like he was tasting something he didn’t plan to give back.
I moaned into his mouth without meaning to, my thighs already starting to open up.
His other hand moved down my side, gripping my ass like it belonged to him.
My leg lifted on its own and wrapped around him, pulling him even closer.
I could feel his dick pulsating through his sweats.
He was hard and thick, and the way his hips shifted made heat rush straight between my legs, making my pussy wet.
He kissed me harder and sloppier, our mouths completely open as we literally swapped spit. I could barely breathe, and think, my whole body responding to the weight of him on top of me. My panties were soaked, and he hadn’t even taken anything off.
His lips broke from mine only to suck on my neck, leaving heat everywhere his mouth touched. My back arched into him, my fingers gripping his arms just to stay grounded. Everything about him—his scent, his mouth, the pressure of his body—had me trembling under him.
This kiss wasn’t about affection. It felt like control, and Pressure had it.
But right as it started to get more serious, I panicked. I gripped his arm and looked him dead in the eye.
“I’m a virgin.”
He blinked. “A who?”
I swallowed. “A virgin.”
He froze, his weight suddenly shifting off me like he didn’t know what to do with that information. He sat up and got off the bed without saying anything.
I laid there, staring up, my face burning. I’d ruined the moment. I could feel it. He was probably over it now, probably regretting even letting me in his room.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“I’ll go,” I whispered.
I was almost at the door when I heard him say, “Who the fuck told you to get out the bed?”
I turned around, stunned by his words.