Page 35

35

Ace

I can’t sleep.

And it doesn’t help that she’s fifteen feet away from me. Laying in bed. Naked, or close to it.

This shit is torture.

I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling hard. My body is tense with need, my mind restless.

I pick up my phone.

2:49 a.m.

I could be inside her by 2:52. No teasing, no hesitation. Just my hands on her thighs, spreading her open, feeding her dick, tongue in her mouth to shut her up when she inevitably starts talking shit. And I know exactly how she’ll feel…tight, wet, and perfect.

But to what end?

A nut?

It would feel good, but it wouldn’t be good for me. I meant it when I said that to her.

I blow out another breath and check Instagram, scrolling mindlessly through cookie cutter thirst traps on the pages of a few OnlyFans hoes I follow. Oiled up. Asses arched. Titties pushed up. Same tired come-fuck-me poses.

I feel nothing. No spark. No pull.

This shit is boring.

Frustrated, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes before I decide I need to see her. I’m not getting out of my bed, though. That’s too dangerous. I go to TikTok instead.

There she is.

I wonder when her follower count went up. She’s over two-thousand now. Damn. I click on her latest video, debating on if I wanna unmute it or not.

Her face fills the screen, flawless, like always. Baby girl’s so fucking pretty. She’s applying something to her eyes, talking at the same time, making that shit look effortless. That’s a skill I don’t possess, I'm afraid. I can’t even hold a conversation while I’m clipping my toenails.

Aight.

I’ll see what she’s talking about.

I hit the icon to unmute.

“None of them have empathy. Not a one. Ladies, trust me on this. They barely have enough thoughts in their heads for themselves. Do you honestly believe they give a fuck about you yapping?”

I chuckle at that, because I’m sitting here watching her ass yap. Then I remember I wasn’t going to, because, well, yeah. I didn’t give a fuck what she was yapping about.

“They only care about two things; themselves, and what they can get from you.” She angles her face, studying her work in the mirror. “If they happen to treat you nice, trust and believe, it wasn’t out of love. It was strategy. Short game or long game, never forget it’s always a game.”

Damn.

Raya really hates men.

She looks hella good doing it, but still. Somebody really fucked her up. Her pops and her ex, definitely, but who else? Although, I guess that’s more than enough.

Do all women have stories of men fucking them up? Probably. I know my sisters do.

She squints, leaning closer to read her comments.

“Are there any good ones?” She laughs. “Depends on what you mean by ‘good’ I guess.”

That puts a frown on my face.

I thought I was one of the good ones.

And she shot this video a few days ago. I treated her pretty fucking well when we were together, not to mention her ass is laid up in my guest room as we speak. Is that not good for her?

She pauses, sighing softly as a brush dangles between her fingers. “Mine is a good one.”

Hell, yeah. Talk yo shit, Raya.

She gets a dazed look in her eyes. “He’s the best one I’ve been with. That’s why I’m down so bad. Y'all know. I ain’t been myself lately.”

She looks down, chuckling softly like she’s embarrassed. “I actually love him. I wasn’t sure I knew how to do that for real, but with him, I finally understand what it means.”

I nod to myself, a slow, deep breath leaving my chest.

“But.” She looks up, staring straight into the camera. “I will never, ever take my eye off the ball.”

That’s interesting.

And by interesting, I mean fucked up.

I exit the app before she can say another word. Toss my phone onto the nightstand. Shake my head in disappointment.

I believe her about loving me. But that ‘never take my eye off the ball’ shit?

Nah.

I’m not gonna sit here and act like I ain’t never played games with women. Raya got it right when she said we all want things from women. I hate to admit that shit, but, yeah. But I was straight up with her. I’m the only one in this bitch not playing games, so what the fuck is she talking about?

I swing my legs out of bed. Step out into the hallway.

Her door is cracked.

That’s an invitation.

I push it open far enough to see inside. She’s on her stomach, one arm tucked under her pillow, the other resting in front of her. The glow of her phone screen illuminates her sleeping face.

I step closer and see that the blanket has slipped down her back, revealing one bare shoulder and the smooth curve of her spine. The sheets are tangled around her waist, leaving her legs exposed. She looks so soft and warm. There for the taking.

I’m hard.

I hook a finger under the sheet and pull it down far enough to reveal her tattoo. I’m still in disbelief about that shit, but I can’t even lie. It’s cold. Whoever did that shit did it right. And it’s placed perfectly. That night I broke in her house, I stared at it while I fucked her from the back, knowing it was more than just a letter and a heart. It was her way of telling me she’s mine, and she didn’t need my permission for it, either.

Something about that is so sexy to me.

I trail a finger over it. It’s fully healed. Permanent.

She shifts slightly, pressing her face deeper into the pillow as a soft sigh leaves her lips. She looks so innocent and small below me. I look back at the door. The door she left open. And I realize.

She trusts me.

For all the shit she talks, for all the games she plays, she knows I’ll never hurt her. That I’ll take care of her.

And she's right.

She might be bad for me, but I’ll never be bad for her.

She shifts again, blinking up at me, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Ace?”

I stroke her back one time, nice and slow.

“Go back to sleep,” I murmur.

She watches me for a moment before her eyes flutter closed again, her body melting back into the mattress.

I stand over her for a while, just watching her breathe, intending to leave, unable to tear myself away. I’m still hard, still tense, but I can’t see a path to satisfaction tonight that doesn’t involve getting pulled back into her web.

Her lips part a little, but her eyes stay shut. In the quietest, laziest voice, she murmurs, “Do it.”

I freeze.

She has no earthly idea what I want. She just knows I want , and she’s willing to give it to me, whatever it is, no matter the cost.

My dick pulses in my boxers, heat rushing through me so fast, it makes me lightheaded.

My breath shudders out of me as I slide a hand down my stomach, slipping past the waistband. I’m so hard, the first stroke hurts.

Maybe that’s a sign I shouldn’t be doing this.

But she’s laying there, ready to take whatever I give her. She wants to be used. I can see it in the subtle shift of her hips and the way she exhales.

I make a decision…if she’s wet, she means it, and I can use her with a clear conscience. I ease my hand beneath the covers, sliding my fingers through the easy path she makes as she arches for me.

Jesus. She’s so wet, it drips off my fingers when I pull them away.

I fist myself, slow and deliberate, my palm slick with her. I watch the rise and fall of her back as I stroke. It feels so good. It’s almost too good.

She turns her head away from me, breathing deep and controlled. I can almost hear her smirking, but she doesn’t say another word, she just lets me do me.

My eyes lock on the Ace of hearts on her spine. My grip tightens. My body tenses. Faster. Harder. My stomach clenches as the pleasure coils low, building and rising until the delicious tension snaps.

I cum with a harsh groan, my hips jerking forward, my nut spilling across the tattoo.

Fuck.

That shit looks so pretty.

And after a few seconds, I start to think…maybe I don’t give a fuck about all that other shit. Maybe this is it. Maybe I should stop fighting it and be fucking happy for once.

I snatch my t-shirt off and wipe up the spill, balling it up as I bend down to kiss the spot I just blessed. She moans softly, but she doesn’t turn my way. She simply says, “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

I wait until I’m closing the door behind me to respond.

“I love you, too.”