7. Sawyer
Sawyer
O ne month later—four days before Christmas.
It was crazy how fast things could change.
Not even thirty days ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever lay eyes on Kareem again.
Now he was in my one-bedroom apartment every day.
Not just physically taking up space, but actively committed to making my life easier.
Kareem was rooted in devotion. He massaged my feet like it was his life’s calling, took out the trash every week before I even opened my mouth to ask, and took Butta for walks faithfully every evening after dark so I didn’t have to think about it once I got home from work.
As sweet and nurturing as he’d been, I'd always had trust issues. My heart required a lot more time and tolerance than my brain did, but he’d been patient.
He didn’t push or pressure me to say I love you back.
He just showed up as himself every day, and somehow managed to make me fall in love with him.
I’d been wracking my brain for the past couple of weeks trying to decide what to get him for Christmas.
He’d been there through the emotional meltdowns over mismatched socks and the late-night burrito and ice-cream cravings and hadn’t asked for anything in return.
But what would I even get a man who was technically on the run and supposed to be dead?
A fake passport? A burner phone with a bow on it?
Whatever it was, I wanted it to be something meaningful that said “I see you. I thank you. And I think I’m falling in love with you” without me having to say the words myself.
Because I’d probably chicken out. I was still too guarded and found myself overthinking every little thing—y’know, standard Aquarius emotional calculus shit.
Plus, my pregnancy had me feeling like I was allergic to having a change of heart.
Maybe I’ll get him something for the baby that he can keep with him.
I unlocked the door to my apartment while balancing my purse, the weight of another exhausting day as a legal aid, and my growing belly.
My baby was the size of an ear of corn, and my stomach felt like it was the venue for a Battle of the Bands every night, specifically around four o’clock in the morning.
My ballooned feet were hollering for a good rub, and my breasts had waged war on my bra, spilling over the top with even the slightest movement. And let’s not forget the constipation.
The moment I stepped inside and saw all the Christmas décor, I exhaled a happy but tired sigh.
My eyes scanned the apartment. The only light in the room came from the Christmas lights that adorned the tree.
It was quieter than usual—no pitter-patter of little dog feet coming to greet me, no TV spitting out commercials every few seconds, nothing.
The artificial Christmas tree I’d had for years stood in the corner, wrapped in blinking white lights.
It was adorned with a mix of ornaments like old baby photos of me and Soleil in small frames from over the years, a small pair of booties to honor our first Christmas with a baby on the way, and a custom Beyoncé angel topper Brit got me for Christmas six years back.
On the makeshift shelf near the tree hung four green velvet stockings, each embroidered with names—mine, Soleil’s, Butta’s, and a blank one for Kareem that I hadn’t labeled yet. Everything looked to be in place, but something felt off.
“Kareem?” I called out. “Butta?”
There was no answer—no jingling collar either.
My brows furrowed in confusion as I scanned the room again.
Butta’s dog bed was vacant, but the cinnamon-vanilla candle near the entryway was lit.
Was somebody home or not? My heart started to gallop in my chest as I immediately began to fear the worst.
“Kareem? Stop playing. This isn’t funny,” I called out again, slightly raising my voice.
I took a cautious step down the hallway—then stopped when I heard a slight jingle that sounded like sleighbells.
Kareem’s deep voice startled me. “Ho, ho, ho, shawty. Santa’s come to town.”
He came toward me dressed in full Santa gear—the red suit, crooked, synthetic white beard, and red and white hat tilted to the side.
He was holding Butta under his arm, who was wearing a pair of pet reindeer antlers, and he wasn’t the least bit happy about it.
Kareem winked a twinkly eye at me and sauntered over, his black boots making no noise on the carpet.
I immediately giggled. “What . . . the hell . . . are you . . . wearing?”
He looked at me and cheesed as if he’d been waiting to surprise me all day. He really looked the part—if Santa had been a hood nigga from the South.
“Close your eyes and kiss me,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. My gaze followed his as he held up some pretend mistletoe. I closed my eyes as my lips curled into a smile, and then I felt his soft lips press against mine. “Now open.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. His thin white beard was Dollar Tree grade, and his suit was visibly too tight around his muscles.
Not to mention, Butta looked annoyed as hell with those antlers on, which only made him look more adorable to me.
The minute Kareem put him down, he ran off to hide, no longer wanting to participate in the surprise.
“Merry Christmas, shawty.”
“What is all this for?”
“For you. I figured you could use some holiday cheer. I’ve seen you walking around here stressing about one thing or another, and I wanted to see you smile.”
My heart raced, my body tingling with anticipation as I watched Kareem.
He lowered himself onto one knee before me, his muscles bulging, straining against the suit.
He unbuckled his leather belt, revealing an impressive bulge straining against his red pants.
My jaw dropped as he removed them, revealing a massive erection that seemed to hang halfway down his thighs.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It never failed to surprise me.
“Let’s see if you’ve been naughty or nice,” he rumbled in that deep, velvety Southern voice that made my pussy twitch.
With that, he scooped me up into his strong arms and carried me over to the couch.
Without explanation, he hiked up my pencil skirt and slowly slid my panties off.
My legs automatically parted as I arched my back invitingly, revealing my wet, throbbing pussy to him, which I couldn’t see past my belly bump.
There was something about the second trimester that made me horny all the fucking time. I was damn near dripping for him.
“I think harboring a fugitive definitely puts me on the naughty list this year,” I whispered with a smirk as I looked up at him.
Kareem chuckled, low and naughty. “Then I need you on all fours. Face down, ass up on this couch right now,” he commanded.
I quickly obliged, feeling him press up against my back with his dick, teasing his rock-hard length against my entrance from behind. I whimpered with desire, ready for him to beat my pussy like a drum.
“You gon’ show Santa how bad you wanna get on that nice list?” he queried, his voice a low growl in my ear before he gently inched himself inside me.
Explosions of pleasure rocked through my body as I gripped the couch cushions, gasping for air.
“I’ll make sure you feel good, shawty,” he groaned as he started to pick up the pace, pounding into me with abandon. Somehow, his dick felt even bigger than usual, stretching me in ways I never thought possible with every stroke. I wasn’t even sure if he was going all the way in.
“Oh, yes! Fuck this pussy, Santa,” I called out, fully getting into our impromptu roleplay session.
Kareem’s long, deep thrusts hit the perfect spot each time, sending fireworks exploding behind my eyelids. He slapped my ass hard, and I moaned louder, screaming his name off-key while bucking against him.
I panted. “Yeah. Smack my ass, baby. Smack it hard.”
“You like that, huh, you naughty lil elf?” he grunted, wrapping his hand around my neck and angling my head upward to meet his lust-filled gaze. “I bet you’ve been a bad girl all year, haven’t you?”
Incoherent moans were the only response I could muster as he continued to pound into me.
My whole body felt like it was on fire, teetering on the edge of orgasm.
Tension twisted in my stomach, tightening like a coiled spring before it unleashed, spreading heat all over my body. I came, and the Earth stopped spinning.
“Oooh shiiiiiiiittttttt!” I squealed.
Santa’s strong hands grabbed my hips, spreading me wide open as he continued to plunge into me from behind.
“Such a nasty fuckin’ girl.” He smacked my ass hard. “You feel so fuckin’ good around this dick.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, but arousal pooled between my thighs at his crude language.
I liked it when he talked that nasty shit.
He fucked me ruthlessly, his balls slapping against my clit with each thrust. My second orgasm was just as intense as the first, if not more, and I screamed his name like a banshee in ecstasy.
“Yessss, Kareem! Don’t fuckin’ stop! Don’t stop! I’m close.” As soon as I gave the command, he disobeyed me. “What the fuck? Why’d you stop?” I complained, snapping my neck toward him.
“Shut up and let me eat it,” he commanded.
His soft lips were on my clit from behind before I knew it, and I found myself obeying an instinct I didn’t realize I owned until him.
Kareem slid his tongue up and down my slit, wetting me up like a Super Soaker.
I swear that nigga French kissed my pussy so good I felt like I was standing at the top of the fuckin’ Eiffel Tower.
He flattened his long tongue against my sweet spot, lapping with slow, broad strokes.
“Ohhhh shit, yes. Right there,” I groaned, ready and willing to cream all over his beard.