She didn't say anything, but the deep sigh of exasperation that escaped from her lips proved that I was right.
Or maybe I wasn't.
"I don't want to fall in love with my cousin's boyfriend," she finally said, her voice breaking. "We can't be who we are behind these walls, and being stuck here, I've learned to accept that. You've put me in an awkward position, and that's why I can't stand the sight of you on days when I'm moody. You have thismagnetic force that lures me in, and you treat me so right, but Romelo... this is wrong."
I turned around then, the water still pouring down on us, and looked down at her. Her gaze bored into mine, and our eyes played ping-pong—searching, questioning, pleading.
"You're in too deep to be regretting this shit now," I said firmly. "There ain't no turnin' back, Juicy. You act like I'm married to her ass or sum'. There ain't shit keeping me bound to her. I'm done suffering with her, and I'm done trying to convince you of that too."
"How can you be so confident in this working out between us?" Her voice became pitched, desperate. "Seems like you treat women like a pair of jeans."
That stung, but I didn't let it show.
"Because I been a confident ass nigga all my life," I said, stepping closer until there was no space between us. "I never gave a fuck about shit, Synthia, and I wouldn't do that to you. I know your worth, and I value it way more than you do. I wouldn't treat you like that after all it took to get you. That's like choosing Tiffany Haddish over Beyoncé." I snorted, and she let out a small laugh despite herself. "It don't work like that, and that ain't how shit's supposed to be. Please tell me this is my last time addressing this shit to yo hardheaded ass."
"I can't make any promises because as long as Trecee lingers in the shadows?—"
"Fuck her," I muttered, annoyance flooding my tone. "Everything I've ever wanted is right here in front of me. It's you, Juicy. I swear to God, on my mama, it was always you, baby."
Reaching down, I pulled her body into mine and grabbed a handful of ass. Soap suds were between our toes, slippery and warm, but the more the water sprinkled down my back, the bubbles washed away. I got some on my hands, so it transferred to her ass too—slick and perfect.
Her hardened nipples poked my abs, and I felt my dick grow hard instantly.
Surprisingly, she reached down and gripped it, her small hand wrapping around my shaft. She began to stroke me—slow, tentative, testing.
Glancing up at me, she gave me a sinister grin, followed by a low giggle.
"You sure you know what you doin' with that?" I asked, my voice thick.
Tilting her head, she countered, "Would you stop me if I said no?"
I tittered and shook my head. "Are you willing to learn?"
"What are you willing to teach me?"
"One of the things I want to teach you, you said you don't do. I can't rob you of that or criticize you for doing something you don't do. I'm grown." I shrugged. "I can respect it."
Biting her lower lip, she seemed to be carefully weighing her next words. I peeped her hesitation immediately.
"You know I ain't forcing you to do shit," I added.
"You're not forcing me, Romelo. I know how to say no. I'm grown," she muttered, her hand still stroking my dick.
"Go 'head and show out then."
CHAPTER THREE
SYNTHIA “JUICY” BROOKS
My heart shuddered, causing ripples to course through my body. There was no denying that Romelo had a big ass dick, and he knew it. God gives the most ain't-shit niggas the cockiest tools to flaunt around. His aura reeked of big dick energy all the time because his word held weight and he walked on bowed legs like God's gift to him was too heavy to carry around.
Now, with my hand wrapped around his dick in the steamy shower, I was frightened because I didn't know God made dicks this damn big. I watch porn—lots of it, if I'm being honest—and those Mandingo dicks are huge. But Romelo had shamed them all.
Do you know what you're doing?
The answer was simple: No. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
But for some reason, I felt this spark, this courage to be bold. Our conversations about dick—the teasing, the innuendos—had led me here. The utter yearning feeling, like I had something to prove, held me hostage. Part of me wanted to stop acting so chickenshit and get it over with.
