Episode| XIX Flashback
A beautiful Black woman with a presence like a goddess.
She was strong, fierce, and yet when it mattered, she hesitated.
That moment—the first time I told her to pull the trigger—she hesitated.
Just for a few seconds. Then, she squeezed the trigger, and that was it.
The start of something. I don't know what to call it, but it felt like more.
It felt like she was mine after that. And I wanted more.
I'd lay her down, delicately even, and fuck her raw.
Whispering sweet nothings in her ear, just to see her melt beneath me.
To remind her who I was—who I am. Every thrust, every breath, every moan was mine.
I made sure she knew that. Made sure she understood what I could—and would—do if she ever betrayed me.
Every time I took her, it was more than just sex.
It was a reminder. A reminder of what she had, and what I could take away.
Each thrust was an injection of control, mercy, and pleasure all at once, her hips shaking against the sheets as I buried myself inside her.
She would gasp for air, struggling beneath me as our bodies collided, slick with sweat, every movement a symphony of power and submission.
I punished her pussy so thoroughly some nights that she couldn't even feel herself cum.
Her body would give in, but she wouldn't even realize it until it was over, until I had taken everything from her.
On some days, I'd take her out, let her think she had it all, let her shop like she was the queen she thought she was.
Arrogant. But she wasn't wrong—she had it all, didn't she?
She did everything for me. Cooked. Cleaned.
Took care of me. Hell, she even did my laundry.
And when I so much as looked at a pill or thought about touching one, she'd flip the fuck out.
It wasn't even an argument. She knew I wasn't doing any of that shit anymore.
She knew her place with me, and she stuck to it.
But sometimes... Sometimes, she had words. Classy. Respectful. But I could hear it—the shift in her tone, the look in her eyes when she thought I didn't catch it. I always caught it. Christie was good at pretending, but I knew.
That's what she asked for. Respect? Loyalty? From me? The fucking nerve. But she never knew how to give the same. She lied to me. Lied to me about that bitch. I let her keep that girl—let her keep Honey—but she lied about it.
I gave her everything. Everything. But this? This lie? It burned inside me, twisting into something bigger than it should've been. Frustration coursed through me, hot and wild, like a fuse lit from both ends. How could she ask for honesty when she had none of her own?
My hands twitched, curling into fists, the muscles in my arms tightening as the frustration boiled just beneath the surface. My jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as I stared at her, wondering how she could sit there so calmly, so collected, knowing what she did.