Page 162 of Own It

I loved switching positions typically, but right now, the view was too good, and the shit felt too amazing for me to pull out or make any sudden changes. Nothing was better than seeing Daylin’s cum face, titties, me plunging inside of her pretty, glistening pussy, while she fought against the constant orgasms in the midst of calling my name. Change positions for what?

Pulling out for a quick moment, I licked from her asshole up to her clit, before sucking on it a little bit as she whimpered. Spanking her, I put her back in position and pushed myself inside.

“Mmm . . . daddy, . . . I love you!” Daylin grunted, body tensing and shivering as she came for what I realized was the sixth time. “Oh, . . . I can’t stop.” She sniveled, referring to the repeated orgasms she kept having.

“I love you too,” I commented, breath becoming labored because I knew I was close as fuck. This bed was drenched and so was my pelvis plus Daylin’s inner thighs. There were too many sensations—visual and physical—for a nigga to last much longer. “Cum for me, baby.”

As if my wish was her command, Daylin flooded me and the bed with her nectar, causing me to pull out, sit her up, and push my dick in her mouth. She deep throated me just as I came, taking every drop down and causing me to wince a little at how good that shit felt.

She licked my shaft once I pulled out, making me smirk. Tugging her head back by her hair, I kissed her sensually, making her nudge me back a little bit.

“My pussy is numb, nigga.” She scoffed as I laughed.

“You not ready for round two?” I queried playfully as I carefully stepped off the bed above the pool before scooping her up.

“No, and you knew what you were doing. That’s not fair.” She hugged my neck, smiling lazily.

Whenever I made her cum constantly, and back to back, she resembled a drunken or tipsy muthafucka.

“I thought it felt good.” I placed her on the toilet once I lifted the top so she could relieve herself.

“It does, but I don’t like tapping out that quickly, especially since you like to talk so much shit.”

“My bad, baby. I just couldn’t believe you was cumming so much and so quickly,” I lied, knowing damn well I wasn’t surprised or shocked in the least bit.

Like I said, I knew her body well.

“I can’t stand you.” She rose gingerly and reached for some tissue as the big ass Jacuzzi tub filled up.

“For real?” I half smiled.

“No. I’m in love with you, but I don’t have to like you.” She tied her hair up, ass naked and making my dick perk up slightly.

I smiled at her comment before going to help her into the bath. This muthafucka was big, so I had no excuse not to join her, which had her ass giddy.

After soaking for a bit and listening to her tell me that she was drawing some phone case designs again—some shit that made me happy as fuck—she felt like she could stand, so we climbed out and got into the shower to actually clean off.

Spent by this time, we fell asleep almost as soon as our heads hit the fucking pillows.

Hours later . . .

Commotion and arguing greeted the Godfrey boys at the door, immediately alarming them as they recognized what was happening. It was a rarity for their father to be in the home and not be upset, bickering, hitting, or all of the above with or on their mother and sometimes them too.

Nate Godfrey was one of the most well-known heavyweight boxers, and coming in at six feet, eight inches, three hundred plus pounds, he was the biggest too. Still, that didn’t stop him from using his fists on his 130-pound wife and even smaller children.

“Nate!” their mother, Helen, screeched just before grunting and clearly slamming into the hard wooden dresser in the master bedroom.

“He slapped her,” eight-year-old Josias commented, eyes wide as saucers as he fought to keep on steady legs.

Often, when their father got angry with their mother, he beat everyone in the house, and Josias wanted no parts.

He, like his brothers, hated when Nate came home. Though he lived with his family, it wasn’t abnormal for the Godfrey patriarch to spend weeks, and sometimes a month, holed up with one of his mistresses and sometimes leaving his wife to do her best to feed their four kids. It was not unusual for said mistress to call the house or pop up, disgruntled and feeling spurned now that their father had returned to his family.

During those times he was absent, Helen would have to take up temporary jobs to put food on the table, and once Nate returned home, she would be forced to quit. Having stable, consistent employment was disallowed.

“Zaire, hurry up and go shower,” Rakim said, seeing the wet spot start to bleed across his baby brother’s jeans, as he pissed on himself in fear. “Go.” Rakim shoved him lightly in the direction of the bathroom, and Zaire snapped out of his terror-filled paralysis to do as he was told.

Though only eleven years old, Rakim often guided his brothers and did his best to protect them. If their father saw Zaire had wet himself again, he’d beat him unconscious—he’d done it before.