Sianni Mcwashington-Maddox #2
When I looked back at him, his jaw was tight, and his good hand was gripping the sheets.
“Come here,” he said, not asking.
And I did. I climbed back into the bed, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. He shifted, adjusting himself so his head was flat against the pillow, and then he looked up at me.
“Come on, ma,” he said. “Don’t make me wait.”
I moved slowly, positioning myself over him, and the whole time, his eyes never left mine.
I lowered myself, and the second I felt his breath against me, warm, close. My whole body tensed.
“Relax,” he said, and his good hand came up to grip my thigh. Firm and grounding. “I got you.”
And then his tongue touched me. The wetness, the heat, and the way he moved slowly at first, as if savoring it, made my breath hitch. My hands flew out, gripping the headboard, and I felt my whole body shiver.
“Kyrie….” His name came out broken.
He didn’t respond. Just gripped my thigh tighter and pulled me down closer. His tongue flattened against my clit, and I gasped. My hips jerked, but he held me in place.
“Stay still, ma,” he murmured against me, and the vibration of his voice made my legs tremble.
But I couldn’t. Not when he was doing that. Not when his tongue was circling, teasing, and applying just enough pressure to make my vision blur.
“Oh, my gosh—” I breathed out, and my head dropped forward.
He groaned, low and deep. And I felt it everywhere. His tongue moved faster and more deliberately. He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew exactly how to make my thighs shake, and he knew exactly when to pull back just enough to make me chase it.
“Kyrie, wait—” I gasped, but he didn’t wait.
He sucked my clit into his mouth, and my whole body went rigid. My grip on the headboard tightened. And my breath came out in short, desperate bursts.
“Fuck—” I whimpered, and I felt him smirk against me.
He was completely in control. Even though he was laid up with a fucked-up arm, he was running this. And he knew it.
His tongue dipped lower, tasting me, and then dragged back up slowly. Like he wanted to draw this out and make me feel every second of it.
My hips started moving on their own. Grinding down against his mouth. Chasing the feeling building low in my stomach.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice muffled but clear enough. “Ride my face, ma. Take what you need.”
And God help me, I did. I moved faster, my breathing ragged, my whole body trembling. His hand slid from my thigh to my ass, gripping me, guiding me, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
His tongue was relentless. Circling. Flicking, sucking. Every time I thought I couldn’t take any more, he’d switch it up, then slow down just enough to make me whimper, then speed up just enough to make me cry out.
“Kyrie… I can’t!” I gasped, my thighs shaking so hard I didn’t know how I was still holding myself up.
“Yes, you can,” he said against me, his voice rough and commanding. “Give it to me.”
And when his tongue pressed flat against my clit and stayed there, firm, unmoving, just letting me grind against it, I broke.
My whole body seized, and my mouth fell open. My vision went black.
I came so hard I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. And through it all, he didn’t stop. Didn’t let up, just kept his tongue on me, working me through it, drawing it out until I was shaking and gasping and begging him to stop.
“Kyrie… please…” I whimpered, trying to lift myself up, but his hand tightened on my ass.
“Nawl,” he said, his voice dark and satisfied. “I ain’t done yet.”
And then his tongue was moving again. Slower this time, softer, like he was savoring every aftershock running through me. My body jerked with every pass of his tongue, oversensitive and trembling, but he didn’t care. He kept going. Kept tasting me like he had all the time in the world.
“Kyrie—” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he murmured against me, and the vibration made my thighs shake harder.
I tried to lift myself again, but this grip held me there. Not roughly, just firm enough to let me know he wasn’t letting me go yet.
And then I felt him shift beneath me. It was subtle at first. The way his body moved. The way his hips adjusted. And then his hand slid from my ass to my hip, guiding me back just enough that I wasn’t directly over his face anymore.
I looked down at him, breathless and confused, and that’s when I saw it. The way he was looking at me. The same look he got when he wanted something. The one that made me forget why I was supposed to be worried about anything.
“Kyrie—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I need you,” he said, his voice low and rough.
My breath caught.
“What?” I whispered.
His hand tightened on my hip, and he shifted again, this time more deliberately. I felt him beneath me. Hard. Pressing against me through the fabric of his shorts.
“I need to be inside you,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “Right now.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Kyrie, your arm—” I started, shaking my head. “You can't—”
“I can,” he said, cutting me off again. His jaw tightened. “I'm good.”
“No, you're not,” I said, my voice more firm. “You just got shot. You don't need to be—”
“Sianni.” His voice dropped lower. Darker. And the way he said my name made my stomach flip. “I don't give a fuck about my arm right now.”
I stared at him, my chest rising and falling, my body still trembling from everything he'd just done to me.
“I need you,” he said again, softer this time. But no less commanding. “Please.”
And that word, ‘please,’ coming from him?
It broke me.
I hesitated for only a second longer. Then, I nodded.
His eyes flashed, and before I could say anything else, his hand was already moving. Guiding me. Positioning me.
I shifted, moving carefully, watching the way he adjusted himself beneath me. He favored his right side, his good side, keeping his left arm still against the bed. His hand gripped my hip, steadying me as I hovered over him.
“Take them off,” he said, nodding toward his shorts.
My hands were shaking as I reached down and hooked my fingers into the waistband. I pulled them down slowly, carefully, and when I freed him—when I saw how hard he was—my breath hitched.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I positioned myself over him, my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. His hand stayed on my hip, guiding me, and when I finally lowered myself—when I felt his head pressing against me—I froze.
“Slow,” he said, his voice strained. “Take your time.”
I nodded, biting my lip, and then I sank.
Slowly.
Inch by inch.
The stretch was immediate. Intense. My mouth fell open, and a soft gasp escaped me.
“Fuck,” Kyrie groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. His grip on my hip tightened. “Just like that.”
I kept going. Kept lowering myself until I couldn't anymore. Until he was fully inside me. Until I was sitting on him, trembling, trying to adjust to the fullness.
“Oh, my God—” I breathed out, my hands bracing against his chest.
He didn't move. Didn't rush me. Just watched me with those grey, hooded eyes, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy.
“You good?” he asked, his voice rough.
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure. Even though I felt like I was about to fall apart.
“Move,” he said softly. “Slow.”
I did.
I lifted myself up just a little, then sank back down. The friction made my whole body shudder. Made my breath catch.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my eyes closing.
“Look at me,” Kyrie said, his voice commanding.
I opened my eyes, and his gaze locked onto mine.
“Don't look away,” he said. “I wanna see you.”
I nodded, my breath coming faster, and I moved again. Lifted. Sank. Lifted. Sank.
Each time, the feeling intensified. Each time, I felt him more deeply.
“That's it,” he murmured, his hand guiding my movements. “Just like that, ma.”
I started moving faster. Finding a rhythm. And the more I moved, the more I felt him, every inch, every angle, every shift.
My hands pressed harder against his chest, and I felt his heart pounding beneath my palms. Felt the way his breathing changed. The way his body tensed.
“Kyrie—” I gasped, my head falling forward.
“Keep going,” he said, his voice strained. “Don't stop.”
I didn't.
I kept moving, kept riding him, and the feeling building low in my stomach was already threatening to break me again.
“Kyrie—” I said, slowing down. “Are you—”
“I'm good,” he said quickly, his hand tightening on my hip. “Don't stop.”
“But—”
“Sianni.” His voice was firm. “I'm good. Keep going.”
I hesitated, watching him, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn't backing down. He wasn't stopping. Not for anything.
So, I kept moving.
Slower at first. Careful. Watching for any sign that he was pushing himself too hard.
But the more I moved, the more he relaxed into it. The more his focus shifted from the pain to me. The way I felt around him. To the way my body moved.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back again. “You feel so fucking good.”
His words sent heat rushing through me, and I moved faster. Harder.
The bed creaked beneath us. The sound of our breathing filled the room. And the feeling—God, the feeling—was overwhelming.
“Kyrie—” I gasped, my nails digging into his chest.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I feel it too.”
His hand slid from my hip to my thigh, gripping me, guiding me, controlling the pace even though I was the one on top.
“Faster,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I obeyed.
I sped up, moving, grinding down on him, chasing the feeling building in me. My thighs burned. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. But I couldn't stop.
“Fuck—” I whimpered, my whole body trembling.
“That's it,” Kyrie groaned, his grip tightening. “Take what you need, ma.”
And I did.