Chapter 1 Raya
Raya
Three months earlier…
I stare up at my beloved husband and feel my insides warming. Ace Taylor just does it for me, every single time, without fail.
“Do you like it when women call you Daddy?”
Ace’s eyes drop to his lap, where I lay, nestled and cozy and content. He loves when we cuddle up on the couch like this, tv on, bodies touching, the world left outside our door. I think it makes him feel like we’re normal.
“Where did that come from?” he says with a smirk.
He tries to play like he doesn’t understand me, but we’ve been married for a few months now. This man knows me inside out.
So he also knows my random questions are never really random.
“Do you?” I ask again.
He sighs, tapping his index finger against the tip of my nose. “I used to.”
“What changed?”
His brows crease with frustration. But he’s gonna answer. He’s patient like that with me. He knows what I need.
“I met you,” he says softly. “And knowing what I know, I don’t wanna be associated with the motherfucker who caused you so much pain.”
I smile up at him. “All the times you be tearin’ my shit up, I’ve never once wanted to call you that.”
He returns my smile to me, and I melt a little. “What do you wanna call me, babe? I know you’re going somewhere with this.”
“Nothing,” I laugh. “I always think of you as my man. Or my husband. And I’m fine with that.”
“So am I.”
His eyes roam my face in a way that feels like a gentle caress. Ace is always gentle—until he’s not.
“Raya Taylor,” he says. “You still ain’t comfortable in the silences, are you?” He taps my forehead. “That little mind is racing, huh?”
I blow out a sigh and nod. “I finished all my assignments. The house is clean. There’s three more quarters of this stupid game…” I trail off, staring up at him, waiting for him to fix my problem.
“What’s Brenda up to lately?”
I suck my teeth at the mention of Brenda Malloy, the black woman I met at the White House a while back. She was supposed to be my mentor. In my head, anyway. I was gonna pattern my life after hers. But she’s turning out to be a disappointment.
“Brenda’s boring as fuck,” I say. “All she does is work and be fabulous.”
Ace laughs. “Go live on TikTok.”
“I don’t go live on Sundays,” I mumble. “Engagement isn’t good.”
He nods. “Well, you could give me some top.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying.” He mutes the game. “Doesn’t the princess have a new cooking show out or something?”
I sit up, staring intently at my husband so I can address this foolishness. “First of all, she’s not a princess. She’s a duchess. Two very different things, Ace. We’ve been over this.” I shake my head. “And second, you know I can’t stand that bitch.”
“So hate-watch, then.”
I roll my eyes, leaning in to kiss lips that taste like the Coronas he’s been drinking all first quarter. I swipe my tongue across the bottom one, sucking it until I’ve stolen all the flavor, moaning when his hand finds my waist and pulls me to him.
Straddling my man feels as natural as breathing at this point. I’m riding him till the wheels fall off, literally and figuratively.
“So I can’t watch the game, huh?”
I stare into his hooded eyes as his hands go to my ass. “Of course,” I murmur. “That’s why I made you nachos.”
He squeezes, grimacing when his dick jumps against me. “I can’t see the tv, baby.”
I duck my head so that I’m out of his way, fixing my lips to his neck so he can watch the Falcons squander another lead. Frankly, after 28-3, I hate them even more than I hate the duchess.
They were my team growing up, as they were for every kid in Georgia, but I should have known better. Every man who's walked through my life before Ace let me down. Of course a whole ass squad of twelve of them would be a fucking disappointment.
Ace unmutes the tv, and the crowd goes wild at the same time I do. I mark him on one side, then the other, which he’s complained about before—apparently they clown him at work for that. Me being me, I don’t give a fuck, and hearing that just made me want to do it more.
His deep sigh of contentment makes me smile against his skin. I love when he’s happy.
This?
Always makes him happy.
My hand eases down his chest, past his abs, and into the waistband of his sweatpants, my fingers wrapping around the monster in there. It’s hard and ready for me, like always.
But his hand grips my wrist before I can start. “After the game, baby.”
I rear back. “You serious?”
He nods.
Well, this is a problem. A big one.
This whole telling me no thing is quite high on my list of grievances, and he knows that. I mean, I know he loves football, and these games only come on twice a week, but I want him. Now. It doesn’t even have to take long.
“Wow,” I say. “I’m disappointed, but okay.” I pause, smiling when the thought comes to me.
“I bet your dad would fuck me.”
Yep. That did it.
His eyes flash with anger, his lips tightening into a snarl.
“Fuck did you just say?”
Before I can answer, his hand is around my throat. The other fumbles around, then reaches under my dress, sliding my panties to the side.
“Sit on this dick.”
My air supply is limited, so I don’t waste my breath arguing, not that I would have. I’m getting what I wanted, and so is he.
He loves this as much as I do.
I sink onto him, my eyes rolling back as he fills me with every hard, thick inch of him.
“Hurry up,” he grits, but I know he doesn’t mean it. Truth is, his dad is a sore subject for him. We kissed last year…well, he kissed me, but I seduced him into it. Water under the bridge, but we’ve never discussed it, and Ace is still sensitive about it.
He uses his leverage on my neck to move me, pushing, pulling, forcing me to please myself, rough and inconsiderate. Just the way I like it.
I knew when I said it that mentioning his daddy would piss him off, but deep down, I know there’s a part of him that loves it.
I mean, let’s be honest. What man wants to wife a bitch nobody else wants?
That his daddy wanted to fuck me is even more of an ego boost, because more than their mother, their brothers, or even their homeboys, all little boys want their daddy’s approval.
“Pussy so fuckin’ wet,” he groans.
Yep. Hate it or love it, Jackson Taylor put a big ass APPROVED stamp right across my forehead, and although he’d never admit it, I know it makes Ace’s dick hard.
I bet he sees it every time he looks at me.
And, well, sometimes, not every time, but sometimes, I see it, too.
I see myself fucking Jackson. I see him fucking me.
I see him watching Ace fuck me. I see myself sandwiched between them, the helpless victim and scapegoat for all of their pent up resentment and aggression.
Ace pistons his hips, driving into me, working out a little of that aggression, and I’m happy to take it from him.
Two taps on his forearm makes him loosen his grip. He insisted on it after I refused to give him a safe word. For some reason, knowing I’m willing to lose consciousness if he wants me to makes him uncomfortable.
He’s so soft sometimes when it comes to me.
I gasp for air, opening my eyes to gaze at his handsome face.
“What am I thinking about?” I tease.
His hands are rough on my hips, digging into my flesh like he wants to burn his fingerprints onto my skin.
“Better not be my fuckin’ daddy.”
I shiver, but not from fear. I actually love this, how easily I can wind him up, and, ultimately, send him spiraling. It feels so good when he’s unhinged.
That’s why I don’t answer him. I part my lips, narrow my eyes, and give him that look that drives him insane, the one that’s half innocent, half I dare you.
His grip tightens just before his mouth crashes into mine. His tongue thrusts past my lips, and it's pretty damn aggressive. I feel like he's reminding me who I belong to. And when he bites my lower lip, I cry out, agreeing that I’m his no matter what he does.
That’s all it takes.
I throw my head back, moaning uncontrollably as he pounds into me from the bottom, his hands steady at my hips, forcing me to take him. Nothing else matters but this…not that game, not my problems, not even my bullshit or the fact that he handles it so well.
All that matters is us.
“Fuck,” he rasps, sweat beading across his forehead. “Tell me.”
“Yoooooouuuuu,” I moan. “I always think about you.”
He groans into my neck.
“How fine you are. How smart you are. That you’re the only real man in my fucking life.” My eyes roll back. “That I need you. I’d die without you, baby. You’re my everything.”
He cums with a roar, which sends me right over the edge with him. Together, we fall into an abyss of mindblowing, body-shaking pleasure, but as much as I'm enjoying it, I'm still lowkey irritated that I had to manipulate him to get it.
That's gonna go in my grievance book.