Chapter 41 #2
“Then stop acting like you are!” he snapped.
I couldn’t lie. That hurt my feelings. My eyes stung with sudden, unshed tears, but I refused to look away. “I’m not scared.”
“Yo’ crazy ass should be.”
I threw up my hands. “Why? Because I’m a woman? Huh? It’s alright for you not to be scared, but I’m supposed to be somewhere shaking in a corner? We agreed that I could be bait, so I tried it today. I’m sorry I fucked up, but you yelling at me because—”
“Because I could’ve lost you!” Mekhi roared. “Fuck that bait plan, Farrah. I’m not losing you.”
Well… that shut me right up. I had questions. He cared if he lost me? I was his to lose? Something told me to tread lightly, to hold my tongue with him for once. He looked wrecked. He took one deep breath, then another.
“When Steel called… in the chaos of everything, it wasn’t clear where the shooting was, where you were. I thought he was calling to tell me you’d been shot.” He swallowed hard. “I started counting exits...”
I froze.
Oh, my God.
“Mekhi,” I whispered.
He stepped closer. Slow. Intentional.
“You know what I was thinking, Little Thug?” he asked hoarsely.
I shook my head, afraid to speak for once.
“That you mean too much,” he murmured. “You mean so much. And I felt bad for never telling you.”
My pulse jumped. Now wasn’t the time; it seemed so inappropriate, but his words, even during this mess, made me happy. So damn happy.
He lifted his hand, fingers brushing the side of my neck, thumb tilting my chin up.
“Why didn’t you hang up on him?”
“I’m sick of him,” I whispered. “He a weak piece of shit—”
Mekhi’s laugh was soft, disbelieving. “You don’t know that nigga to tell him shit like that. You ain’t doing a good job, future psychologist.”
His thumb stroked my jaw.
“Mekhi—” I was ready to argue.
“See? You don’t listen,” he murmured.
“Half the time, you don’t talk,” I fired back.
“You stubborn.”
“You bossy.”
“You mouthy.”
“You like it,” I taunted.
His eyes dropped to my lips.
“Don’t play with me, Farrah.”
“Or what?”
It was like something in him snapped.
And then he kissed me. It wasn’t sweet or soft or gentle. Nah, Mekhi kissed me like he was mad at me, hard, probing, dominant. His tongue tangled with mine and won that particular battle.
He backed me up, our lips fused, until I bumped into the couch. Only then did he pull back to glare down at me.
“Don’t you ever do that crazy shit again, Little Thug. You hear me?” he asked tightly.
I nodded, too distracted to speak. Our hands were busy, rubbing and touching each other.
A startled sound escaped me as he spun me around and bent me over the couch.
I squealed as he yanked my skirt up roughly.
Holding on to the couch’s back, I moaned softly as he greedily palmed my panty-clad butt.
“This ass,” he groaned, squeezing and rubbing. “I oughta spank it. That’s what your hard-headed ass needs, Little Thug. I got other plans, though…”
I gasped a second later when I felt the sharp pressure of his teeth nipping one of my cheeks. Then, the panties were being yanked down, and he smacked my ass kinda hard.
“Mekhi!” I whined.
“Shut up,” he ordered, but he rubbed away the sting. “Spread these thighs for me.”
I moved my feet apart, aggravated but also anticipating. He didn’t make me wait long.
“Look at that. You can be obedient. Good girl,” he whispered, before starting a long, heated slide into me.
“So fucking wet. You always so wet and so tight, Farrah,” he groaned.
I didn’t know what to say to that, which was good, because I was beyond speaking. He felt so damn good, stretching and filling me, easing the hungry throbbing of my pussy even as he stoked it.
“Khiiiii,” I moaned.
“I’on wanna hear that shit,” he muttered, his rhythm picking up as he pressed me lower over the couch. “Tell me you sorry for scaring the shit out of me.”
“Mm. Uh-uh-uh.” I tried to respond but found my speech limited to the rhythmic sounds he drilled out of me.
His hands moved, squeezed my waist, pulling me back into each punishing thrust. My mouth might not be sorry, but my pussy would be.
“Farrah!”
“You said… uh… you said y-y-you let them f-follow us there. You gotta be sor-sorry, too.”
I sounded crazy, but it was hard to argue when a big ass nigga was fucking you relentlessly. Damn, why does this feel so good?
His hand tangled in my hair and he yanked me up, never stopping his brutal rhythm. His lips pressed against my temple, then found my ear. He nipped the lobe, sucked it into his warm mouth. I couldn’t help it; that was my shit. I clamped around him, gushed all over his dick.
“Sick of that smart-ass mouth,” he breathed against my ear.
“You know I’m right,” I whispered back.
He spanked my ass again. “Tiptoes,” he ordered.
I obeyed, then squeaked when he bent my leg and lifted my knee onto the couch’s back, opening me up more to his thick, delicious invasion.
“Mekhi…”
“Say you sorry,” he demanded.
“You first.”
“Stubborn ass.”
He slammed into me repeatedly, and when I was on the edge again, about to tip over into bliss, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Little Thug. We made a snap decision, and it went wrong.”
“I’m sorry, toooo,” I wailed as I came. “But you know I can’t help my mouth,” I gritted out.
He laughed, low and husky as his dick jumped inside me.
“You something else, girl.”
“You like it,” I sighed, slumping over the couch, totally spent.
He laughed again, and I felt the soft press of kisses against my back
“Yeah,” he murmured finally. “I guess I do.”