Every time I try to peel my eyes apart, I see Ace through the slits, resting back on his forearms watching mego ‘head.
He reaches out and traces his fingers along my inner thigh.
“Is this what mornings sound like with you?”
I think he’s talking about the sounds bursting through my ears until his fingers pinch my stomach and I hear my voice blending in with the birds’ chirping.
“As—da—” I whine, pushing my body down more even though I don’t think there’s more of him left for me to take.
I reach past his hand and Ialmostmake it to my throbbing clit he strummed the night before, but I should’ve known better.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters, knocking my fingers away. “I’m trying to see something.”
I can’t do shit but nod and savor all the words he’s told me while we played together on Planet Ace. Now I know they were calculated, and it makes the throbbing inside me that much better, so I move in up and down motions like I think I’m supposed to.
“Stop jumping up and down on my dick,” he rumbles. “That’s not how you do that.”
“It ain’t?” I groan to myself, smacking my lips.
Anotherthwackagainst my ass lets me know it wasn’t an internal groan and my brain can’t keep up with what’s pouring out my mouth.
“Are you talking back to me, Lourdes?”
I shake my head so hard, my braids slap against my cheeks and he laughs.
“‘Nigga, you can’t tell me what to do.’” He mimics my voice from a time that seems so long ago. “I can do whatever I want with you. I was telling your ass what to do back before you even knew I was. Now, let me show you something before you think you supposed to just jump on my dick for the rest of forever.”
His tone is more gruff and cocky than it was last night, but I want it that way. Chelsea would say he had me trained well and I would agree with her with no fuss.
He leans back more and looks at me—likereallylooks at me, wearing his t-shirt with sleep crusted around my eyes and my edges fluttering against the fall breeze.
He reaches out, tugging up the bottom of the shirt and tucking it into its front collar while pulling our bodies back against the french doors. As soon as his back touches the glass, he slams his mouth into mine.
“Good morning,” he mumbles, sucking on my tongue. “To my perfect baby, who thinks she’s grown with morning breath and frizzy ass braids. They never told me just how defiant your ass would be.”
I don’t know who “they” are or how this part fits into his dick riding lesson, but it feels right and he feels harder inside me.
His lips glide along my tongue. They move so slow that I feel my hips rocking, telling him not to leave me yet.
“Act right,” he hisses, hanging on to the tip of my tongue. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
Sitting on his lap with something so precious throbbing inside me is like torture until he pulls his lips off my tongue and plants them against my neck. They leave a trail of wet hot spots down my chest until he slurps one of my nipples into his mouth.
I fight against my hips until he stops and grabs ahold of my hair to keep my head steady while he looks at my face. The sun’s rays dance across his lips that I used to stare at. He pulls his bottom one under his teeth like he’s on the court, and I want to know everything he’s thinking.
“Use your hips and take your time.” He smacks his lips against my cheek. “Show me what feels good to you, not what you think I like.”
What feels good isdeepslow grinding against his dick while his head falls back against the french doors and he watches me with a smile. It doesn’t take long for me to lose my breath and for my legs to tighten, but he tells me “it’s okay” in a quiet murmur. He says I’ll “get better with time” while tugging my feet from the mat and pulling my knees beside his body.
Afterward, he reaches out to swipe a thumb against one of my eyes. “How I’m homesick while I’m inside you? Why you so pretty and perfect for me, baby? Hm?”
He belts out question after question that I don’t have answers to, and even if I did, he wouldn’t understand me because the only words I know how to say while he’s living inside me are whatever version of his name feels right. At least until he blurts out one last thing.
“What I’m gonna do when you leave me?”
I don’t know what’s worse—his words, being too tired and consumed with pleasure that my body’s shutting down, or knowing that we can’t live connected like this forever.
His fingers dig into my hips and he guides me up and down because I need more practice. His legs fall behind me and he buries another inch of himself inside me I didn’t think was possible.
