Page 19

19

Ace

“Do you want kids?”

I was laid out, chillin’, halfway to a nod, when Raya disturbed my fucking peace.

I rented us a cabana. Canopy. Ceiling fan. Plush furniture. Bluetooth speakers. Butler service. I wanted to spoil her a little bit on this trip. Seemed like she needed it. Shit was feeling like paradise, and then she opened her mouth.

I take off my sunglasses, shifting to look at her. “Where did that come from?”

She shrugs, and it lowkey pisses me off.

It’s not a benign question. It actually feels like she punched me in the stomach. I know it’s not rational to be mad at her over it, but feelings aren’t rational sometimes.

I sit up, running a hand over my face. The sun is high and bright, making the sand look a blinding white. That’s all I see in front of me, blue and white. It’s beautiful, but I can’t even enjoy it. My chest is tight. My body is stiff.

“You trying to tell me something?” I say.

She frowns, then laughs. “No, silly. I’m just curious. Can’t a woman be curious?”

I stare down at her, all laid out next to me in a pink bikini. “I’m curious as to why you’re curious about that.”

She shifts onto her side so she can look at me. Her elbow props her up, her body angled toward me, smooth brown skin and soft curves. It’s real hard not to get distracted, but if anything will do it, it’s thinking about what I lost.

She reaches out, grazing my bare chest with her fingers before trailing a path down my stomach. “You didn’t answer the question,” she says softly.

“Maybe because I don’t owe you an answer.”

It comes out sharper than I meant it to, but she’s not even fazed. She just smiles.

“It’s not a big deal, Ace. I was just thinking about our conversation in the car when we were talking about legacies. You strike me as a legacy guy.”

“What’s that?”

Her hand comes to rest on my bare thigh. “You know…good head on your shoulders. Brilliant. Solid career. Feels like the kind of life you’d want to pass down.”

I don’t answer.

Because I did want that.

It was right there within my grasp.

And then I lost it all.

I reach for my old fashioned, calmed by the sound of the ice clinking against the glass as I take a slow sip. She watches me, expressionless, as I try to medicate myself.

“Never really thought about it,” I lie.

She taps my thigh with her fingers. “Never? Not even once? You never imagine a little you running around? Calling you Daddy?”

My jaw clenches so hard, a stab of pain shoots through my head. She’s poking at a scab she doesn’t know is there. I don’t wanna talk about this shit. Not now, not ever. But I guess it’s not an unreasonable topic of discussion for normal people.

I wet my lips, forcing my voice even. “Not everybody wants kids.”

Her fingers trace lazy circles on my skin. “I think you do.”

I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. I don’t like any of this shit, to be clear, but the look on her face makes me think she’s enjoying this. I know it’s not possible, because she doesn’t know about Elijah, and if she did, that would mean she enjoys peeling my layers back to poke at the raw tissue inside, which would lead me to believe something is seriously wrong with her.

But I can’t shake the feeling.

“Think what you want,” I say, shifting under her touch. “Just know I don’t like being pushed.”

What I don’t say is that I push back.

Her lashes lower, but she holds my gaze.

“So for future reference,” she says smoothly, “you shut down when you don’t like where a conversation is going.”

I set my empty glass on the side table, shifting my weight so I’m leaning into her space. My thigh brushes against hers, warm and bare.

“What about you?” I say. “You wanna be a mother?”

She exhales sharply. “Well—“

“Cuz seeing as how your parents split up, it makes me wonder how that affected your feelings about that.”

It’s subtle, but I don’t miss the way her eyes go cold.

She’s quiet. For a long time. We sit there, staring at each other, neither one of us wanting or willing to break first. She’s testing me, and I’m testing her ass right back.

Just because she led me around by my dick in the beginning doesn’t mean I’ma let her run me now.

Her need for control just reached its limit with me.

“ Now who’s shutting down?” I say, tapping her hip. “What, you don’t like hard questions either?”

Her gaze sharpens. “I don’t like talking about my parents.”

“Why not?” I volley back.

Her lips twitch. Her hands ball into fists. For a brief second, she looks like she wants to steal on me, but then just as quick as it flared, her demeanor softens.

She rolls onto her back, stretching like a lazy cat, her bikini shifting just enough to expose more of her smooth, brown skin.

“As my man, you’re gonna have to learn how to read the room.”

There she goes claiming me again.

My eyes drop from her face to her nipples. Seeing them hard, I start to think maybe there really is something wrong with her. This woman is truly enjoying this. I don’t understand it. I’ve never seen anything like it.

It concerns me.

And excites me.

I let my gaze drift back up to her mouth, those full, smug lips, just begging to be kissed or bitten. “What does reading the room look like to you?”

She trails her fingers up the side of her breast, then plays with the thin strap of her bikini top, twisting it between her fingers. She’s playing nonchalant, but she’s just as tense as I am.

“It means knowing my moods,” she says, bringing her leg up to a ninety degree angle. She swings it back and forth in slow and steady arcs. Hypnotizing me. “Knowing when I wanna talk. When I need space. When I want you to fuck me. When I want you in my mouth.”

She smiles watching my dick rise in my trunks. “Little things like that.”

“Little things like that,” I repeat, exhaling sharply. My patience is paper thin right now.

“You know, that reading the room shit applies to you too.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“That means knowing that trying to distract me with pussy ain’t gon’ work every time.”

Her smile turns into a smirk. “So…only eighty percent of the time, then?”

Her free hand trails down her bare stomach until it reaches her bikini bottom. She inches a finger just beneath the band and stops, watching to see my reaction.

I don’t give her one.

I’m still pissed.

“You like to play games,” I say, my voice rough and low. “It lowkey feels like you want an opponent more than you want a man.”

Her fingers still. “Why not both?”

“Cuz if you keep playin’ with me, somebody has to lose.”

Her hand is on my waistband now, toying with the elastic. The air between us is thick. Charged.

“So,” she says, her eyes locked on mine. “You’re finally ready to admit you heard me call you my man.”

I chuckle. “I heard you every time you said it.”

“I know what I want,” she says quickly.

“Something else you gotta learn.” I lean in, my mouth close to her ear, my words just for her. “You can’t always get what you want.”

She turns her head, lips brushing against my cheek. “I already got it,” she murmurs. “The title is just a formality at this point.”

I wish I could argue with that.

A waiter passes by our cabana, side-eyeing us hard. My eyes drop to Raya’s finger, still playing at my waistband.

“Then let’s make it official,” I say. “Me and you.”

For the first time today, I see something unfiltered in her. Something real.

She pulls me in, bringing her lips to mine, kissing me slow and deep. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining, and something inside me stirs.

“Okay,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“One caveat,” I continue. “This whole control thing you have.”

Her face falls, but she recovers quickly.

“I don’t know where it came from or what it does for you,” I say as my fingers trace her jaw, tilting her chin so she can’t look away. “But I need you to let that shit go and let me in. If you’re with me, be with me. You understand what I’m saying?”

Her slow nod doesn’t fill me with confidence.

“I feel like…maybe you’ve been hurt before.” I slide my hand to her cheek. “It’s okay, we don’t have to get into it. Just know, that ain’t why I’m here.”

She exhales sharply.

“I wanna know you,” I continue. “Inside and out. That’s what I’m like when I’m with somebody. Can you handle that?”

A swallow, then a tight smile.

“I can try.”

It’s not witty, or sexy, or sassy.

It’s honest. Probably the most honest she’s been with me so far. It’s what I saw that day at the cookout. She’s vulnerable.

I hope one day she understands I like that side of her, too.

“You want another drink?” I say, glancing at her empty glass.

She stalls out, staring at me like she didn’t understand the question.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “Just…just thinking about what you just said.”

“Aww, I got you speechless, huh?”

She breaks, and the sound of her laughter immediately snaps the tension.

And now, I can focus on other things. More important things.

I stare down at her face, those dark eyes, those big pretty lips, and immediately, all I can think about is being inside her. Right now. Fuck that hotel room.

My mind jumps back to that night. Waiting outside her window. Sweating. Staring. The way she held me there. Made me wait. Made me want . Reduced to a pathetic shell of myself.

And I want to punish her for it.

I wanna punish her for yanking me by that invisible leash. For making me beg, mentally, like a fucking dog. For making me question myself. For me having the slightest doubt that I’m that nigga. She enjoyed that shit, and I lowkey hated her for it, even though the pleasure it gave me blew my fucking mind.

Can hate and desire occupy the same space?

I bring my hand to her throat, wondering if the hate still lingers. If it does, it’s latent, but maybe it’s time to call it forth and unleash it. She’s mine, now.

Her throat moves against my fingers as she swallows. Is that fear, or desire? Wouldn’t it be interesting if those two mingled…

Her nipples pebble again, and I feel like she’d be down for anything.

That’s a relief.

I tighten my grip around her throat. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who’s in control now. Her pulse thrums against my fingers, steady, but quick, like she’s bracing for something. Maybe she thinks I’ll stop, that I’ll pull back before I go too far.

But why should I?

She didn’t show me any mercy. She toyed with me. Fucked with my head. Got inside me, under my skin, embedding herself in my fucking bones. I was just entertainment for her.

Well. Now it’s my turn.

I’m not gonna pretend I don’t still want her. My dick wouldn’t be aching the way it is if I didn’t. I’m so hard, I’m damn near lightheaded, straining against my trunks, surging with blood and heat and anger.

I wanna wipe that fucking tiny ass hint of a smirk off her face. Of course her ass is loving this shit. The tension. The unspoken threat beneath my touch. Pussy probably crying for me.

She’s sick.

But maybe so am I.

My lips tighten. My fingers flex, pressing deeper into her throat. Something dark bubbles up inside of me, and I wonder how far I’ll go. I’ve never been the type of loser ass nigga who does whatever a woman is weak enough or dumb enough to allow me to do, because I have pride. Integrity. And the women I date tend to have standards.

But right now?

I can see myself pushing it. Raya’s not weak. That’s as clear as that blue sky out there. As she watches me, and those dark eyes glitter, I know she wants me to push it. She’s…compliant.

Because there’s something in it for her.

I relax my grip, sliding my thumb over her jaw, tilting her head back. “You like when I’m mad, don’t you?”

Her lashes flutter a little. Not because she’s shy—Raya’s never shy—but because she doesn’t wanna admit it.

“I like your attention,” she says finally. “However you wanna give it to me.”

It’s a talent, I swear to God, the way she always manages to say something that lands.

I drag my lips along the shell of her ear before I mutter, “Go close the curtains.”

She smirks. “Oh, we’re bossy now?”

“Getcho ass up and do what I said,” I grit, my hand already in my trunks, trying to relieve the pressure. Goddamn, she drives me crazy.

My eyes follow her as she takes the short walk to the edge of the cabana, hips swaying dangerously. She might as well be naked in that little ass bikini, her fat ass swallowing her bottoms whole. I grip my dick tighter, squeezing as I watch it jiggle.

I’m about to fuck her up.

She’s barely a foot away when I stand and grab her hand, yanking her to the back of the chair. I position myself behind her. Hand on her back. Push.

She goes down easy.

I snatch her bottoms down, and the second my knee nudges her thighs apart, I see it. What I came here for. What’s been hiding beneath that smug attitude and teasing bullshit.

It’s a mess down there.

Without prologue, I slide into her, shuddering at the tight, wet heat that surrounds me, gripping me, sucking me in like she’s been waiting all day for this.

I brace one hand against the chair and the other on her hip, holding her in place as I bury myself deeper.

I’m barely two strokes in when she cranes her neck, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Bae?”

My grip tightens at her hip. “What?”

A slow smile crosses her face. “What you mad for?”

I still myself, but my heart gallops along without me, a hundred miles an hour.

“You know why,” I grit. “Turn around.”

“But I wanna knowwwwww…” she whines, her ass wiggling a little, teasing me. Again.

“Turn around and shut the fuck up,” I say, mushing her face lightly. I’m not the least bit surprised when her walls clench around me, but I’m kinda surprised I said it in the first place.

She’s bringing some dark shit out of me.

I think I like it a little too much.

She listens, though. Compliant.

There’s something in it for her.

My dick.

A nut.

I press my chest against her back, pinning her down as I grind deeper, my fingers digging into the flesh at her hips. My teeth find the curve of her shoulder, biting down hard enough to make her gasp.

But it’s not enough.

I wanna see her fucking knuckles turn white. I want her biting her tongue. I want her desperate and clawing and pleading and wanting.

I breathe slow, my strokes deep and punishing. I’m tearing her shit out the frame, and all she can do out here in the middle of this beautiful place, with silhouetted beachgoers passing by the sheer curtains, is discreetly take this dick.

She gasps again, arching into me, meeting every thrust. I feel her submission. Her sacrifice.

It’s still not enough.

I want one more thing.

So I stop and move her hair to the side, gaining access to the back of her neck, where I press a kiss.

Her body tenses, but she doesn’t say a word.

Still shutting the fuck up.

Good girl.

“You alright?”

She shakes her head.

“You want this dick?”

She nods.

“I’ll give it to you. On one condition.”

She waits.

Smiling, I press my lips to her ear, my tongue making a quick swipe of her earlobe.

“Beg.”

A shudder rolls through her.

“Lemme hear that,” I say.

She sucks in a long breath, and then, softly, she says, “Please?”

“Please, what?”

She arches backwards, nudging me. “Please fuck me, Ace. Please .”

I tighten my grip on her hips.

“I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

Okay.

An impassioned plea. A little dramatic, but I’ll take it.

I grind myself into her again, my eyes rolling back as I fight against the slow-building orgasm.

“Would you fuck me if I was dead?”

I stop.

Did I—?

Did she—?

Is this one of those ‘would you still love me if I was a worm’ type questions girlfriends ask?

Nah.

This is worse.

This is insane .

“If you were fucking me, and choking me, and I died, would you keep fucking me?” she says, throwing her ass back. “Would you nut inside my body, Ace? Tell me. Please…”

What the fuck ? I mean, I wanted her to beg, but not like this. This is sick. It’s depraved. It’s enough to make me cut my losses and go searching for a nice girl I can take home to meet my family.

But…I’m stroking again. And it feels so damn good . And I’m about to nut. With a vengeance. I can’t stop it.

“Raya…”

“Would you?” she demands, her pussy clenching around me. It’s wetter, too. Soaking me.

Fuck .

I can’t—

I’m delirious.

But I’m still not answering that fucking question.

Deep down, I already know.

I’m not pulling out of her shit with an AK-47 to my head. Or hers.

She whimpers, and the sound alone nearly makes me lose it.

But I don’t. I can’t stop.

I pound into her harder, deeper, punishing her, punishing myself for how much I love the filth coming out of her mouth. The madness. A kind of depravity most people don’t even whisper about.

She has a problem. I see that clearly now.

She is a problem.

But she’s mine.

I can fix her.

Or maybe I won’t.

Maybe I like her like this.

I snake my hand around and land between her thighs, finding the spot that makes her body jolt against me.

“Nut.”

That’s all I got for her ass. She just better hope she cums before I do.

“Now,” I demand.

She whimpers, her lower body stuttering against me.

There’s a lot I wanna say. A lotta shit I wanna talk. But I ain’t giving her shit. Not this time.

This time is for learning lessons.

I slap her ass, sharp, loud, making her gasp. Making her fold.

I feel it.

Her moan is long, strangled, and full of everything she’s been holding back. I fuck her through it, fighting my way through the pulses and tremors and the gush of wetness that drowns me. The moment she collapses, weak and boneless beneath me, I let myself go, burying myself as deep as I can, letting the pleasure rip through me in a violent, bone-shaking release.

I fall against her back, breathing with her, sweat slick between us. I fill my lungs with the scent on the back of her neck. She’s still pulsing around me, whimpering through the aftershocks.

All is right with the world.

“Bae?”

“Yeah?” I manage to say.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I exhale against her damp skin, shaking my head.

“Read the room, baby.”