15. YAHMARIA #3
“Fuck, Yaya,” he groaned against my skin. “You taste so good.”
His hand slid down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my silk shorts. His fingers found me wet and ready, and he groaned again, the sound vibrating through my chest.
“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with desire.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, Syx, please—”
He hooked his fingers into my shorts and panties and pulled them down in one smooth motion, tossing them aside. I was completely bare beneath him now, exposed and aching.
He kissed his way down my body—my ribs, my stomach, the curve of my hip. When his mouth found the inside of my thigh, I trembled, my hands fisting in the sheets.
“Syx—”
“Let me taste you,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “Let me make you feel good.”
I nodded, unable to form words, and then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, my hips bucking off the bed as his tongue moved over me with devastating precision. He knew exactly what he was doing—exactly how to make me fall apart. His young ass was more experienced than I anticipated, and in that moment, I knew I fucked up. Shit.
His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open for him as he devoured me. His tongue circled my clit, then flicked over it, then sucked it into his mouth, and I was lost.
“Syx—oh, god! Syx—”
He slid two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. I screamed his name, my body convulsing, my hands gripping his locs so hard I was sure I was hurting him.
But he didn’t stop. He kept going, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I was trembling and gasping, begging him to stop.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening, his eyes dark with hunger.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough.
I reached for him, pulling him up to me and kissing him hard. I could taste myself on his lips, and it made me want him even more.
“I need you,” I whispered against his mouth. “I need you inside me.”
He groaned and pulled back just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down. His dick sprang free, thick and hard and perfect.
I wrapped my hand around him, stroking him slowly, and he hissed through his teeth.
“Yaya—fuck—”
“I want you,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my body. “I want all of you.”
He positioned himself between my thighs, the head of his dick pressing against my entrance. He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
He pushed inside me slowly, inch by inch, and I gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect ache of him filling me completely.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
He started to move, slow and deep, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes, Syx, just like that.”
He kissed me as he moved, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips. It was slow and deliberate and achingly intimate—not just fucking, but something deeper. Something that felt like worship.
His hand found mine, our fingers lacing together, and he pinned it to the mattress beside my head.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to see you.”
I opened my eyes and met his gaze. The intensity there stole my breath.
He wasn’t just inside my body. He was inside my soul.
“Yaya,” he breathed, and my name sounded like a benediction.
He picked up the pace, his hips driving into me harder, faster, and I met him thrust for thrust. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard hitting the wall, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was him. This. Us.
“I’m close,” I gasped. “Syx, I’m so close—”
“Come for me,” he said, his voice a command and a plea. “Come for me, Yaya.”
His hand slid between us, his thumb finding my clit, and I exploded.
The orgasm tore through me, even more intense than the first, and I screamed his name as my body clenched around him.
“Fuck—Yaya—” He groaned, his rhythm faltering, and then he was coming too, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me.
We collapsed together, our bodies tangled, our breathing ragged.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. We just lay there, holding each other, our hearts pounding in sync.
“Yaya,” he said finally, his voice soft.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I turned my head to look at him and found him watching me with admiration and satisfaction.
“For what?”
“For this. For staying. For—” He paused, searching for the words. “For making me feel like I’m not alone.”
My chest tightened, and I reached up to cup his face.
“You’re not alone,” I said quietly. “Not anymore.”
He kissed me again, soft and slow, and I felt something shift between us.
This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just two broken people trying to escape their pain.
This was something real.
Something that scared me more than anything else in my life.
But as I lay in his arms, our bodies still tangled, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.
And I wasn’t ready to let that go.
The front door slammed downstairs.
The sound cracked through the house like a gunshot, and my entire body went rigid.
Syx’s eyes snapped to mine, wide and alert. “Fuck.”
“Amai,” I breathed.
We moved at the same time—scrambling off the bed, grabbing for clothes scattered across the floor. My hands shook as I yanked my silk camisole over my head, my shorts up my legs. Syx pulled on his sweatpants, his t-shirt inside out in his rush.
“Bathroom,” he hissed. “Go to the bathroom—wash your face—”
“He’s going to know—”
“Just go.”
I stumbled toward the hallway bathroom, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. I could hear Amai’s footsteps downstairs—slow, deliberate, moving through the house like he owned every inch of it.
Because he did.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm the flush in my cheeks, the swollen look of my lips. My reflection stared back at me—guilty, terrified, alive in a way I hadn’t been in years.
I heard Amai’s footsteps on the stairs.
My breath caught.
I quickly dried my face and stepped back into the hallway just as Amai reached the top of the stairs. His eyes found me immediately—dark, unreadable, assessing.
“Yahmaria.” His voice was flat. Empty.
“Amai.” I forced my voice to stay steady. “You’re home.”
“Clearly.” His gaze moved past me to Syx’s bedroom door, which was still cracked open. His jaw tightened. “Where’s Syx?”
“In his room. He had another nightmare—I was just checking on him.”
Amai’s eyes narrowed, and he moved past me without another word. I followed, my pulse racing, as he pushed open Syx’s door.
Syx was sitting on the edge of his bed, his locs pulled back, his face carefully neutral. But the room—the room smelled like sex. Sweat and skin and the unmistakable musk of bodies tangled together.
Amai stopped in the doorway, his nostrils flaring.
He knew.
“You good?” Amai asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Syx nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. Just another night terror. Yaya helped me through it.”
“That right?” Amai’s gaze swept the room—the rumpled sheets, the pillow on the floor, the faint sheen of sweat on Syx’s skin. “Smells like you got fucked on your back until the room stank.”
“Couldn’t sleep after. Did some push-ups. Tried to burn off the adrenaline.” Syx’s voice was steady, practiced. “You know how it is.”
Amai stared at him for a long moment, and I held my breath.
Then he turned and walked toward his own bedroom without saying another word.
I exhaled slowly, my knees weak with relief.
But I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let him just walk away like I didn’t exist.
I followed him down the hall, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. “Where the hell have you been, Amai?”
He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Just kept walking toward his bedroom like I was a ghost.
“I’m talking to you,” I said, my voice rising.
He finally stopped at his bedroom door, his hand on the knob. When he turned to face me, his expression was carved from stone.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“The hell you don’t. You disappear for days—no calls, no texts—and you think you can just walk back in here like nothing happened?”
“That’s exactly what I think.” His voice was cold. Detached. “Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“You’re with her, weren’t you?” The words came out before I could stop them. “Your little surrogate. You’re fucking her.”
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually hit me.
But he didn’t.
He just stared at me with an expression that made my blood run cold.
“Guard your tongue, Yahmaria.”
“Or what?” I stepped closer, defiant despite the fear crawling up my spine. “You’ll do what, Amai? You’ll leave? You already did that. You’ll ignore me? You’ve been doing that for years. What’s left?”
“You don’t want to find out.”
“I’m your wife,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’m your fucking wife, and you’re out there playing house with some broke bitch who doesn’t even know who you are—”
His hand was around my throat before I could finish the sentence.
He slammed me against the wall, his grip tight enough to cut off my air, his face inches from mine.
“I told you,” he said, his voice low and deadly, “to guard your tongue.”
I clawed at his hand, gasping, my vision starting to blur at the edges.
“You don’t talk about her,” he continued, his grip tightening. “You don’t think about her. You don’t even breathe her name. Do you understand me?”
I nodded frantically, tears streaming down my face.
He held me there for another moment—long enough for me to see the truth in his eyes.
He would kill me.
If I pushed him, if I threatened what was his, he would kill me without hesitation.
He suddenly released me, and I collapsed against the wall, gasping for air.
“Priest is missing,” he said, his voice flat. “My entire operation is destabilizing. So, forgive me if I don’t have time for your bullshit.”