Chapter 29 #2
Imanio kissed my lips again—slow, then deep, then hungry. And then he pushed inside.
Just the tip.
My gasp was sharp.
“Somebody call 911—my body just declared a state of emergency!”
My whole body jolted like a current had shot straight through my spine. I clawed at his forearms, my fingers trembled and my legs instinctively tried to close, but Imanio held them open—firm, never forceful.
“Naji,” he whispered, still as stone, his face pressed to my temple. “Breathe.”
“I—I am,” I panted, but my voice shook. “It hurts.”
“I know, baby. I know,” he repeated. “You want me to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop. I just—just give me a second.”
Imanio didn’t move, thrust, or even rock; he just stayed there, buried where he was, kissing me slow—soft—on my cheek, my shoulder, and the space between my collarbones.
“You good now?” he asked again, voice low.
“It burns,” I admitted, eyes wet, legs still tight around his waist. “It’s like… it’s too much.”
Imanio’s mouth curved into that dark, arrogant smirk.
“Of course it’s too much—you been starving, and I’m feeding you a feast. You ain’t dealing with no little boy dick, baby; you fucking with a man now. Your body just gotta learn me.”
Imanio leaned closer, his voice lowering, almost gentle against the weight of his words.
“Just breathe… don’t fight it. Let me in slow, and I promise it won’t hurt for long. I’ll make sure it feels like it was always meant to be me.”
I nodded against him. Imanio reached down, brushing his thumb over the most sensitive part of me—tender, gentle circles that made me gasp. His other hand slid behind my thigh, pulling me closer, deeper.
Slowly, my breathing changed. The sharp tension in my body started to shift into something else. My hips moved just a little, trying to adjust. The sting began to dull, and the burn softened into pressure.And that pressure turned into, “Oh,” I moaned. “Oh, God… I?—”
“There she go,” he grunted, watching me fall apart under him. “That’s it. You feel me now?”
I bit my lip and nodded fast, my face twisting in confused pleasure. “I… I feel everything.”
Imanio eased in deeper, watching my eyes roll to the back. Then he rocked back and pushed forward again.
My nails dug into his back, and I cried out, not from pain—but from the shock of how good it suddenly felt.
The fullness. The way he groaned my name into his neck.
The way his hips rolled so passionately, like he was branding me from the inside out.
The way his hands slid under my thighs and lifted me just enough for his strokes to hit deeper.
The way he whispered, “I’ll never let anybody disrespect you again.
You hear me? You mine now. Mine forever. ”
“Imanio—” I cooed. His name spilled from my mouth in messy, beautiful tic-ridden moans.
“I got you,” he murmured against my mouth. “I’m right here. I’m always right here.”
His strokes deepened but stayed slow, calculated. Imanio watched my eyes every time he pushed in—watched the way they glazed, then widened, then fluttered again.
“Yeah, take it all… every inch. Don’t hold back.”
My eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the heat and weight of him filling me.
“Keep looking at me. Nah, don’t close them eyes. I wanna watch you lose yourself.”
I forced them open, meeting his gaze through a haze of tears and pleasure.
“You feel that stretch? That’s me teaching your body who it belongs to.”
My teeth sank into my bottom lip, desperate to muffle the sound threatening to rip free.
“Don’t bite your lip; let me hear you. Every sound you make is mine.”
A moan spilled out, raw and sweet. My head tilted back as my voice cracked into the air.
“Ohhh—Imanio… your dick feels too damn good.”
He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.”
My body started trembling again, but not from fear—from need.
“ What the hell is happening—n-not like this! Oh God! ”
The words burst out, jagged and unbidden, like I couldn’t catch them fast enough.
He growled something guttural, unintelligible, like he was too far gone to form real words, and then said, “You mine.” Thrust. “This pussy mine.” Thrust. “Nobody—nobody—ever gonna make you feel like this but me.” Thrust.
And when I came, I screamed.
Loud. Beautiful. Unfiltered.
My body convulsed, clamping down around him as my back lifted clean off the bed.
That first orgasm ripped through me like a wave I didn’t even try to fight.
I just let it crash—let it take everything.
And Imanio didn’t stop until he gave me all of him.
He grunted my name like a curse—low and rough—and then spilled inside me, collapsing against my chest with a heavy, ragged exhale.
We stayed there—sweaty, breathless, tangled in heat and tears and the quiet hum of something new… something permanent.
Imanio ran his fingers through my damp curls.
“Was I o-okay?” I asked nervously.
“You were perfect, ” he replied, kissing my collarbone. “You good?”
“Yes. I’m… sore, but happy.”
“Just know, I’ll burn the world down to make sure you always are.”
And I believed him.
As I blinked awake, I stretched my limbs under the thick cotton cover, letting out a soft groan, only to immediately regret the sudden movement as pain radiated through my muscles.
“Ow!”
I rolled slowly onto my back. My legs didn’t move the way they normally did, and my back was sore in places where I didn’t even know had muscles. I winced and sat halfway up, then flopped back down with a whimper.
From across the room, a deep chuckle rolled through the air.
Imanio stood near the dresser, shirtless, a chain resting against his chest, phone in one hand, and brushing his teeth with the other.
“You good, soldier?” he teased, voice thick with amusement. “Or you need crutches just to stand?”
“N-Not funny!” I chuckled, burying my face in the pillow. “I… I can’t feel my thighs.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you let a savage rearrange your soul.” He grinned.
I groaned again, muffled. “It’s your f-fault! I probably can’t walk!”
My body jerked with another spasm, and the outburst broke free, sharp as a spark against dry wood.
“Wheelchair Olympics, here I come!”
Imanio shrugged, dark amusement glinting in his eyes, like he was proud of himself.
“What can I say? I got good dick, baby. But last night was the intro. So if you can’t walk today, then you might wanna start praying.
I told you I don’t do soft, and I went light on you, baby.
Real light. Next time, I’m not holding back.
I’ma fuck you so deep you won’t just be walking funny—you’ll be moaning my name in your sleep, begging for a break I’m not giving.
You gon’ cry and thank me for it.” He winked with a cocky smirk then entered the bathroom.
I whimpered at the thought of ‘next time’.
“I don’t know h-how I’m supposed to make it at work today,” I mumbled.
“You’re not… because you’re not going,” he stated flatly, rinsing his mouth in front of the mirror like it was already settled.
“Wh-What?” I stuttered in confusion.
Imanio glanced at me through the mirror. “I forgot—you barely touch social media. But that restaurant incident? It’s gone viral.”
“Wh-hat?!” I said again, my voice rising, the tic coming quick. “Cranberry crime scene!”
“Yeah.”
My stomach flipped.
“Wh-what are they saying?” I asked, panicked.
The comments—that’s what I feared most.
People’s mouths. Their opinions.
“I haven’t looked at any of them yet,” he admitted, rinsing again. “But don’t worry about whatever is being said. I’m sure my publicist will be blowing up my phone soon with a game plan.”
He dried his mouth, then reentered the room.
“Until then, you’re not going back to work,” he stated in a tone that left no room for argument, but I wanted answers.
I slightly frowned. “Wh-why not? I… I just went back yesterday.”
Imanio strolled over to the bed, dropped onto the edge, and looked me dead in the face and explained, “Because this ain’t like before.
Before you came along, when shit like this happened and the media got involved, I just had to protect my name…
my brand. But now, I have a wife. ” He paused, gaze holding mine.
“ You . That means I protect your image, too.”
My breath slowed a little.
Imanio leaned back and added casually, “If it makes you feel better, wifey, I’m not going to work either.”
I nodded.
That did help… just a little.
“So like I said,” he continued, standing to grab his phone.
“Today—and probably the rest of this week—you’re staying home.
Relax. Heal. Enjoy some more free time off.
I’ma call Ms. Shirley so she can get you healing a little faster.
You need a recovery bath before you turn into Jell-O on the sheets. ” He chuckled.
And as much as I wanted to stay mad… I laughed too. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what the internet was saying… and how long before it all reached me directly.
Ten minutes later, Ms. Shirley entered the room, cheerful and composed as ever.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kors.”
Ms. Shirley only learned about the marriage over the weekend, when Imanio and I finally told her. Before that, when she’d said, “Well, this is your house,” it was because Imanio had let her believe I was just a permanent guest—like we were only girlfriend and boyfriend, nothing more.
“Good morning,” I mumbled, adjusting the blanket over my chest. “But y-you don’t have to be so formal with m-me, Ms. Shirley. Naji is fine—casserole coffin! ” I cringed.
She and I both looked at Imanio, expecting some kind of reaction.
A frown. A smart remark. Something.
But he didn’t even look up from his phone.
“Well,” Ms. Shirley said gently, “are you ready, dear? Your bath awaits you.”
“Yes,” I groaned, wincing as I eased myself out of bed like my entire body had turned into aching mush.