She giggled. “Sure.”
I slid my hands further up her body until they landed on her titties. “See? You wanted that, didn’t you?I hear you baby. Speak to me.”
That magnetism I talked about was nothing more than her soul calling out to me. I didn’t give Mahogany anything she didn’t want. Never had. When we first kissed, I gave her what she wanted. When she was overthinking, rambling, pacing and I’d tell her to breathe or relax, I did it then too. Mahogany was private. She kept a lot of shit bottled up but there was always something very telling about her. It was in the air. It was in her mannerisms. It was in her eyes. In her spirit. What she needed. And every single time ‘it’ happened, I was told what to do. I didn’t just advance on her because I was a freaky nigga. I was actually really capable of controlling myself. I wasn’t nearly as hypersexual as I came off as. I was cool. But… there was a lack of control where Mahogany was concerned because she wanted me. She wanted me bad. And all I did was do what her soul wanted me to do. Mine too.
“Stop,” she mumbled.
“You want me to stop, for real?” I asked, massaging her hardening nipples through that thin white tank.
She didn’t say anything. I looked down at her face and was immediately mesmerized. Her eyes were closed. And she had this look of contentment on her face that made it hard to look away.
I pulled my hands away from her titties and wrapped them around her waist as I backed up against the couch sitting acouple of feet away. I sat down, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto my lap, facing me. Burying my face into her chest, I inhaled the scent of her invigorating perfume. Today she smelled sweet, like candy.
“No, for real. We have more work to do,” she giggled and cupped my face, pulling me away from her breasts. “Please.”
“Please what? What you begging for, baby?” I asked, turning to kiss the palm of her soft hand.
“I’m begging you to stop, Mr. Carter,” she softly said, before pinching her bottom lip between her teeth.
I grunted. “Calling me that shit won’t help,” I told her before burying my face back into her breasts. She moaned and gripped the back of my neck, pulling me toward her. I kissed the ampleness of her breasts and she hissed, starting to grind her hips on me. I slapped her on the ass and she yelped, giggling.
“Shit,” she whispered, steady grinding on me.
“You feel that muthafucka, baby?” I whispered against her ear.
“Mmhmm,” she moaned, before putting her hand down my Givenchy joggers, gripping my dick.
“Thought you wanted me to stop,” I teased, as she brushed the pad of her thumb over the head of my dick, swiping pre-cum up.
She pulled back a little, sliding her hand out of my pants. I liked to fucking lose it when she put her thumb in her mouth, licking the pre-cum from it. Mahogany licked the palm of her hand and put it back down my pants and slowly stroked my dick. I laid back against the couch and closed my eyes, while she pulled my joggers down. She leaned forward and kissed me on the neck, slowly running her soft, wet hand up and down my dick. Shortly after, she climbed down and came out of her pants before mounting me again. This time with my dick buried deep inside of her.
“Fuck,” she moaned once my dick hit the bottom of her pussy. She sucked in air and slid her hands over the back of my neck. “Mmmh,” she moaned.
Lightly, I tugged on her nipple with my teeth through her shirt, and she pulled me in, urging me to bite harder. I reached into her shirt and pulled them out to do just that. Since we’d been fucking around for a lil bit, I picked up on cues and that definitely was a cue for more. Mahogany was a freak. A freak that liked it rough. Not too rough though. She liked balance and I’d like to think that I gave her just that every time we were together.
Slowly, she gyrated her hips, riding my dick with so much passion a nigga damn near came right then and there. I gripped her waist, slowing her down, to stop from busting in her. She swatted my hands away and placed her hands on the wall behind us for leverage as she bounced up and down on my dick.
“Damn, Mo,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms around her body, helping her ride.
She tossed her head back and rode me ferociously, her titties bouncing wildly in my face. I caught one and tried to put the whole thing in my mouth. Except they were too big so I could only get my mouth wrapped around the areola.
I tightened my arms around her body and flipped us, putting her against the couch and me behind her. I gripped her ass cheeks and slid deeper inside of her, my balls knocking against her clit. She grabbed one of the couch pillows and bit into it. I snatched it away from her.
“Mm, mm. Don’t hold back, baby. Be a good girl and let go on this dick.”
She grunted and slapped the back of the couch as her thighs began to quiver. “Crescent. Oh God... fuck!”
I slowly pulled out of her, and slammed back inside of her, her juices splashing all over the cream-colored couch with each stroke.
“What the fuck?!”
With wide eyes, I pulled out of her and turned around to find her husband standing in the doorway. Off top, my hands went to my waist, as if I wasn’t naked from the waist down, on a business meeting without my gun. I was naked out here, literally and this nigga had a vicious amount of hate in his eyes.
He didn’t waste time coming at me. I snatched my pants up from the floor and quickly put them on just as he made it to the side of the office where we were. As soon as the nigga got in arm's length, I swung on him. I missed and he hit me in the jaw with a mean ass left hook. I shook it off and swung on him again. Connected with his nose. He ate that bitch. I wasn't surprised. He was on animal shit—had just caught me with my dick balls deep in his wife. I would have been too.
In the background, Mahogany yelled at him to stop. Neither of us paid any attention to her. He wanted to kill me, and I was fighting for my life. He threw a couple wild punches at me, with the one arm he had, connecting a couple of times. I couldn’t lie. He was getting off. Which was crazy, considering he was throwing them bitches with one arm. Rage in the middle of a fight was a different type of fuel. Still, I held my own.
A nigga hadn’t scrapped in a minute. The last fight I had, I was around eighteen, in the hood on some wild shit with my cousins. I was in my mid-thirties. My body wasn’t the same. Shit, his neither. He was slow as hell. But all things considered, we were going head up.
