Chapter 13 #5
The praise hit exactly where he meant it to. My nipples were still wet from his mouth, my ass tender beneath his hands, my pussy swollen and loud around him. The sound of us filled all that expensive quiet, slick and obscene, and instead of embarrassing me, it made me ride him harder.
Dre heard it too.
His gaze dropped between us, then came back to my face.
“You hear that?” he asked. “That’s you, baby. That’s this tight pink pussy telling on you.”
A broken sound left me.
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed ruined.
“You like hearing it?”
“Yes.”
“You like knowing I can hear how bad you want me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t hide from it.”
I moved faster, chasing the drag of him, the stretch, the pressure, the way his hands helped and held and claimed without forcing. His name slipped out of me once. Then again. Then again, until it stopped sounding like a word and started sounding like the only thing my body remembered how to say.
“Dre.”
“I’m right here.”
“Dre.”
“I got you.”
“Babyyyy.”
His growl filled the room.
The next roll of my hips made his head fall back against the pillow. His throat worked. His chest rose hard beneath my palms.
“Fuck, Mani.”
I leaned down until my breasts brushed his chest, until my mouth found his, until the ride turned slower and deeper and somehow filthier because we were looking right at each other while it happened.
His arms closed around me.
For a second, it was tender.
Then my pussy clenched around him again.
Hard.
Dre’s whole body locked beneath mine.
“Don’t,” he warned, voice breaking.
I did it again.
His hands gripped my ass, and the sound he made was low, helpless, almost angry with how good it felt.
“Imani.”
The way he said my name pulled me under.
My orgasm rose fast, too fast to reason with, and I tried to lift away from it, but Dre held me where he wanted me.
“No. Stay on my dick.”
His forehead pressed to mine. “Let this pussy finish what she started.”
That was all it took.
Pleasure broke through me, deep and violent, my body shaking above his while my pussy locked around him again and again. Dre cursed, his hips driving up once, twice, then holding deep as his control finally tore.
“Mani,” he groaned.
His body shook beneath mine.
“Mani.”
I felt him lose himself, felt the way he buried his face against my neck and held me like the orgasm had taken more from him than breath.
“Mani.”
Softer that time.
Almost broken.
For a while, neither of us moved.
Only our breathing filled the suite.
His arms stayed around me. My body stayed loose over his, my face tucked against his neck, my pussy still pulsing around him like it had not accepted that the moment was over.
Then Dre kissed my shoulder.
He eased me up carefully, protecting his knee and me at the same time, then slipped away to dispose of the condom.
I fell onto my back, body loose, satisfied, and completely ruined. My nipples were wet. My thighs were open. My ass was tender. My pussy still pulsed like it had not accepted that he was no longer inside me.
Water ran in the bathroom.
A minute later, Dre came back with a warm cloth.
I covered my face. “Dre.”
“What?”
“Do not become sweet after all that.”
His laugh was low and rough, still carrying the edge of what we had just done. “Move your hand.”
“No.”
“Imani.”
He looked amused, tender, and far too pleased with himself.
“Let me take care of you.”
So I did.
Dre cleaned me slowly, careful with every place he had made sensitive, his hand warm on my thigh, his mouth brushing my knee once like even that deserved attention. I wanted to make a joke. I wanted to say something smart enough to give me my balance back.
Nothing came.
He left again, returned, and climbed into bed beside me. Then his arm came around my waist, and he pulled me into him like there had never been anywhere else for me to go.
My back settled against his chest. His thigh slid carefully behind mine. His hand rested low on my stomach, heavy and warm, while his mouth found the side of my neck.
“You okay?” he asked.
I should have threatened him again.
Instead, my eyes closed.
“Yeah.”
His arm tightened.
That was all.
This was reckless. Complicated. Too much too soon and too familiar to be safe.
I still could not regret it.
His breathing slowed behind me. His hand stayed spread over my stomach. His lips brushed my shoulder once, soft enough to break what the sex had left standing.
Sleep came before I could argue with it.
The last thing I remembered was Dre drawing me closer, his voice low against my skin.
“Rest, Mani.”
And God help me, I did.
For a few hours, I let myself be a woman held by the man who still knew how to make every part of me answer. No decisions, explanations, internet panic, or old fear standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for a chance to remind me what loving Andre Jones had once cost.
Morning would find all of it.
Morning would bring screenshots, assumptions, and the old panic of becoming part of Andre Jones’s story before I had chosen the words for my own.
But I did not know that yet.
That night, I slept like staying had finally become the easiest thing in the world.