Shit.
Even my mans is confused as fuck.
“Nothing,” she finally says around a mouthful of food.
Yeah, okay. I’ve never been in a relationship, but even I know whatnothingmeans. It means a fuck ton ofsomething.
Swallowing the bite of pizza, Eshe grabs the bottle of water and twists the cap off. Without removing her gaze from mine, she drinks deeply. “As I was saying, I’m a firm believer in staying ready so you don’t have to get ready. I’ve dealt with Abena Diallo all my life. One of my eyes hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in nine years because it’s always open. So nah, Huntsman, I don’t need you to tell me to be vigilant. And as far as fear? I don’t know her.” She demolishes the rest of the slice, then tosses the crust into the box. “You’re wrong.”
I stare at her, loosely linking my fingers together on my stomach, and silently wait on her to explain, because those are two words I don’t hear often, especially not paired together. And if I do, I guaran-fucking-tee the person doesn’t repeat them. Ever. At least not on this plane.
“This Poison—you believe she’s more dangerous than you or me because she doesn’t have shit to lose and no principles holding her back. That’s not a strength; that’s a weakness. Me? I’ll go to war for mine. I’ll fight dirty. Lie. Cheat. Go to the lowest, filthiest pit in hell, fuck the devil, and then gut him while he’s still shaking from a nut with my pussy on his breath. That’s how I’m coming behind mine. There’s nothing I won’t do, no line I won’t cross, no rule I won’t break to protect those I love. Because without them, I have nothing. The only person more fucked up than one with nothing to lose is the person who has everything to lose—and knows what it’s like to have nothing. They’ll do anything not to go there, to feel that again.”
I don’t move a muscle, but inside? Inside, my heart pounds against my rib cage with huge meaty fists as if it’s trying to punch holes through to get to her. For a second, I don’t recognize the sensation crackling like a live current. It shortens the breath in my lungs, sensitizes my skin until even the slightest caress—likethe brush of my shirt or the stale air in the room—feels too much, damn near painful.
That ferocity. That passion. That brutality.
Like a caveman with his first sight of fire, I desire to creep closer on all fours, craving its heat, its beauty. But fear it. Fear the pain of its touch. The intensity of its power that I have no hope of controlling.
So, when that fire throws back the covers and crawls across the mattress, my voluminous T-shirt riding up silken thick thighs, flashing a teasing glimpse of bare plump folds, I don’t move away. Don’t move closer. I’m trapped by my own wants, my own uncertainties, my own inadequacies.
She perches on the edge of the bed like a beautiful exotic bird—no, that’s too easy, too easy. An eagle. Gorgeous, yet cunning, deadly. Ready to strike. And right now, I’m in her sights, her prey.
And fuck if I don’t want to be run down to the ground by her, feel those nails curl and dig into my flesh, draw blood while she fucking feasts.
“You know what I do want to feel again, Huntsman?” she murmurs, shifting to her knees. Her handful of breasts sway free under the gray cotton, momentarily distracting me. That and the shadow of her beaded dark brown nipples. I swallow, my mouth watering for a taste. Just one.
Briefly closing my eyes, I shift my attention back to her face.
If she noticed where my focus was fixed, she doesn’t call me out on it or seem pissed off. Judging by the gleam in her hazel eyes, it might please her.
“I asked you a question. Do you know what I want to feel again?” She scoots back a bit, falling to her ass, bringing her knees up.
I wouldn’t answer even if I could.
And let’s be clear. I can’t.
My shirt falls to her hips, hiding not one goddamn thing.Her legs cradle the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Bare. The same shade of mahogany as the rest of her body on the outside with a delicate pink on the inner lips. Already, she’s glistening, as if just my eyes get her wet. With those shapely legs propped up, I’m blessed with an unrestricted view of her ass’s full lower curves.
Though I make sure to always keep the apartment’s temperature at a cool 62 degrees, I swear the furnace just clicked on in this bitch. Because I’m sweating. It’s like a blacksmith’s bellows took up residence in my chest, and each rise and fall emits enormous blasts of heat and fire.
It requires a strength I didn’t know I possessed not to grab my dick and deliver a punishing stroke and squeeze. But shit, with that utterly perfect pussy framed by her thighs like a fucking Van Gogh painting, cum might decorate the backside of my joggers with just one pump of my fist.
Eshe eases onto her elbows, slowly letting her legs fall to the sides, and fuuuck. A growl rolls up from my gut to my chest and rumbles in my throat. She cocks her head, staring at me.
“You, Huntsman,” she says. “I want to feel you again. And I’m not above keeping count. You owe me an orgasm. What were your exact words? Hol’ up because I want to make sure I quote you correctly.” She taps a fingertip against her cut lower lip. “Riiight. ‘Lick it.’”
Yeah, I did issue that order, didn’t I?
And she followed it, though it hadn’t been with submissiveness. Nothing about the encounter in that freakishly fairy-tale cottage was about submission. It was a fight for dominance all the way until she wiped my seed from her mouth and pulled a gun on me.
Now, here she lies with her legs sprawled wide, demanding the same from me. Ordering I concede to her what she never once gave me. Not even with my dick lodged in the back of her throat.
“No?” That smirk rides her mouth. “That’s cool. I’ll start without you.”
Lowering her back to the mattress, she slides one hand up andover her T-shirt-covered body, cupping her tit, squeezing it. She arches into her caress, loosing a low, sensual moan. The other hand winds a path down her torso, traveling farther until it slips between her thighs and covers her pussy. Another groan dances on the air, only this one is deeper, sexier, drenched with lust.
Abena could send a whole army of Mwuaji soldiers through that front door right now, and I still wouldn’t be able to tear my gaze away from those nimble, elegant fingers tunneling through those swollen, soaked folds.
