9. Sianni McWashington-Maddox
I stayed on the couch, staring at Kyrie like I didn’t recognize him for a second.
Whatever the hell just happened between us, yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.
My heart was still beating fast, my chest rising and falling like I had run laps, and I hated that my body hadn’t caught up yet. Like it was still stuck on him.
I swallowed, shifting slightly, my thighs pressing together without me even thinking about it. And I wasn’t about to sit here and lie like I didn’t like it. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was how easy it was for him. How my body responded to him. That didn’t sit right with me.
I glanced over at him again, my brows pulling together as I tried to read him. He was sitting there calm as hell, like ain’t nothing just happened.
“You’re always doing the most,” I said, my voice low.
But it didn’t turn out the way I wanted. It was sharp, but it wasn’t annoyed. If anything, it sounded a little off.
He let out a small chuckle, turning his head slightly toward me. “How am I always doing the most?”
“Because you ain’t have to do all that,” I replied, folding my arms like that was supposed to help me stand on it.
He leaned back with a smirk playing on his mouth. “But you needed it,” he said. “And you said it was mine, right?”
I exhaled, dragging in a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Yeah.”
The second it left my mouth, I already knew I shouldn’t have said it.
“Exactly,” he said, that tone of his settling in deeper. “So, what you trippin’ for?”
I shook my head, looking away from him.
“Besides…” he added, licking his lips slowly, “you taste good as hell.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to come back with something smart, something to check him with, but nothing came out.
So, instead, I stood up.
“Aight, I’m finna take a shower.”
I didn’t even look back at him as I walked off.
Once in the room, and in the shower, I let the water run over me, my head tilting back as I closed my eyes.
I thought about getting him back. I really did, but then again, I had already folded once. And he only had one good arm. That alone had me on pause. I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head to myself.
Once I got out and dried off, I threw something on and made my way back downstairs, heading straight to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.
I was halfway through when I felt him before I even heard him. My shoulder tensed just a little, but I didn’t turn around.
He stepped in behind me, close enough for me to feel him without him even touching me. His body heat settled against my back like he knew exactly what he was doing.
My grip tightened around the counter for a second. He was doing this shit on purpose.
I swallowed, keeping my eyes on what I was doing, acting like I wasn’t affected, but my body was telling me a whole different story. And that was the problem.
“Damn, you smell good as hell.”
His voice dropped low and smooth. Like he knew what he did to me. It slid right under my skin.
“Thank you,” I said, keeping my tone even, although my body wasn’t.
I should’ve folded right there, real talk. I wanted to, but I didn’t. And that alone irritated me. Because I ain’t like how easily he was getting to me. Kyrie had me wide open, and I hated how natural it felt.
“You good, baby?” he asked, a smirk sitting on his lips like he already knew the answer.
He leaned in close. His breath brushed against my ear, warm and intentional.
“Yeah… I’m good,” I said, swallowing hard.
That was a lie, a weak one at that. Because I wasn’t good, not even close. My thoughts were all over the place, and my body was even worse. Reacting to him like it had a mind of its own.
I pulled in a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
“No, you not.”
“Yes, I am,” I shot back, quicker this time.
He chuckled, low, knowing. His eyes dragged me over, slow, taking his time like he was enjoying watching me try to hold it together.
“If you were good, mama, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking like that.”
My brows pulled together. “Looking like what?”
“Like you thinking too hard.”
My chest rose just a little too fast.
I rolled my eyes, pushing at him lightly. “Boy, please.”
“I’m serious,” he said, catching my wrist before I could pull away.
His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t loose either.
“I’m finna go lay down,” I said, trying to brush it off and turning before he could read anything on my face.
I barely got a step in before his arm slid around my waist, pulling me back into him like it was nothing. My breath hitched when my back met his chest. It was solid and warm.
“Why you keep trying to run from me, ma?” he asked, his voice right at my ear again.
I tilted my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder. “Who said I was running?”
He let out a quiet laugh, tightening his hold. “You did. Every time I get like this with you, you be ready to go.”
“I don’t know, Kyrie,” I said, shrugging, even though he still had me pinned against him.
“Nawl,” he said, his tone shifting deeper and more serious. “You know.”
His hand settled on my waist, his fingers brushing along my side before coming to rest again, slower this time.
“So, tell me what it is,” he added. “’Cause I know you ain’t scared of me.”
“I’m not,” I quickly said.
“Then what?” he pressed, turning me in his hold so I was facing him.
The smirk was gone. Now, he was just looking at me like he was focused.
“I’m not gon’ hurt you,” he said, quieter this time.
I searched his face for a second and then barely slipped out of his grip. It took effort, and he let me, but it didn’t feel like I had much room.
“How do I know that?” I asked.
His jaw tightened just a little, but he didn’t look away.
“You don’t,” he said. “But I’m trying to show you.”
That made my chest feel weird. I dropped my gaze without thinking, my thoughts spiraling again.
“Nawl.” His fingers came under my chin, lifting my head back up, slow and controlled.
Not forceful but not smiling either.
“Don’t do that,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine.
His thumb brushed lightly along my chin, then paused there.
“You are too beautiful to be walking around with your head down.”
His voice dropped low, barely above a murmur, as he leaned in, and I felt it before it even happened. My lips parted without me meaning to, as if my body were already one step ahead of me.
“Keep that up, ma.” Then his lips met mine. Soft at first, but it didn’t stay there.
The kiss deepened slowly, like he was taking his time with it, like he already knew I wasn’t about to pull away. My fingers curled into his shirt, gripping onto him as my body leaned into his without me even thinking about it.
He pulled me closer, his hand sliding up my back, pressing me against him until there was no space left between us.
I could feel the heat off him, the steady rise of his chest against mine, and it had my breathing all off.
And the crazy part? I ain’t even try to stop it.
He picked me up with his good arm and placed me on the counter, where he slid between my legs.
His hand gripped my hip. Hard.
Not rough, but firm enough that I felt it everywhere—like he was making sure I wasn't going nowhere. And I wasn't. I couldn't even if I wanted to.
The counter was cold against my thighs, solid behind my back, but all I could focus on was him. The heat coming off his body. The way his chest rose and fell against mine. The way his hand slid under my shirt, fingers pressing into my skin like he was memorizing the feel of me.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
“I'm good,” I breathed out.
His eyes locked on mine for a second longer, reading me, making sure. Then, his hand moved again, pulling my shirt up and over my head in one smooth motion. He tossed it somewhere I didn't even see.
The air hit my skin, but I barely registered it because his mouth was already on me. My neck. My collarbone. Lower.
My head fell back, my hands finding his shoulders, gripping him because I needed something to hold onto.
His hand slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my pants, and I lifted my hips without him even asking. He pulled them off, let them drop to the floor, and then his hand was back on my hip, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter.
Closer to him.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
And the way he was looking at me? Like he'd been waiting for this. Like he already knew how this was gon' end.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding between my thighs, and I gasped against his mouth. My body reacted before my mind could catch up—hips shifting, legs spreading wider, giving him exactly what he wanted.
What I wanted.
His fingers moved slowly at first, testing, reading every reaction. And I gave him plenty. My breathing picked up. My grip on his shoulders tightened. My whole body leaned into him like I couldn't get close enough.
“Kyrie—”
“I know,” he murmured against my lips. “I got you.”
And he did.
His fingers worked me until I was shaking, until sounds I didn't even recognize were slipping out of me. Until I was so close I could barely breathe.
Then he pulled back.
I almost protested, but then I heard the sound of his belt, the rustle of fabric, and my heart kicked up even harder.
He positioned himself between my legs, his hand gripping my hip again, holding me steady. His eyes met mine one more time.
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“I'm sure.”
That was all he needed.
He pushed into me slowly, and my whole body went tight.
A sound escaped me—something between a gasp and a moan that I couldn't hold back. My eyes closed for a second, just from the shock of it. The feel of him. All of him.
It had been too long.
My hands gripped his back hard, nails digging in without me meaning to, and I heard him groan low in his throat. But I couldn't focus on that because everything in me was adjusting, stretching, remembering what this felt like.
What he felt like.