Page 24

I n e e d e d t h i s. The second my girls started rolling in, the heavy cloud of everything finally lifted.

“Bitch, I can’t believe your ass actually let us through the door,”

Mecca said, stepping in first, carrying a bottle of D’USSé in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. Her jet-black weave was bone straight and stopped at her waist, her edges laid to perfection. “Thought yo’ jail warden ass husband was gon’ have us banned.”

I rolled my eyes, snatching the bottle from her. “He is not my jail warden.”

Retia, who was right behind her, snorted. “Girl, yes, the hell he is.”

She walked in with a fresh set of nails that had to be at least three inches long, white French tips that she used to pop open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos like she was born to do it. “Don’t act like you don’t know that man is probably gon’ pop up in here if we get too loud.”

I smirked, knowing damn well they weren’t wrong. Shooter was controlling as hell. But today? Today was about me. “Y’all act like I’m miserable or something.”

I flopped down on the plush sectional, pouring myself a drink. “I’m fine.”

Kalea, the last one to step inside, raised a brow as she shut the door behind her. “Oh? So that little text you sent us, all pressed, was just for fun?”

I glared at her as she kicked off her heels and curled up next to me. “Exactly.”

They all burst out laughing, and I shook my head, sipping my drink.

The penthouse smelled like lavender and my expensive-ass candles, but the second Retia sparked up, the scent of weed started weaving its way through the space. I didn’t even care. This was my time to unwind, to stop thinking about Shooter and all the ways he was starting to get under my damn skin. But of course, I couldn’t escape him for long.

“So…”

Mecca drawled, leaning forward on the couch. “How’s married life treatin’ you?”

I made a face. “Pass.”

“Uh uh, bitch. You can’t pass on that,”

Retia said through a mouthful of chips. “We need the details. And by details, I mean, is that dick dickin’?”

Kalea burst out laughing, nearly choking on her wine. I rolled my eyes, but my body betrayed me. Heat crept up my neck as flashes of last night hit me all over again. The way he touched me. The way he made me feel. The way I couldn’t stop wanting more.

I reached for a Cheeto to distract myself. “It’s fine.”

Mecca sucked her teeth. “Uh uh. That little blush? You ain’t slick.”

“I’m not blushing,”

I said quickly. “Y’all are tripping.”

Retia exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and narrowed her eyes at me. “So you mean to tell me, you locked up in this penthouse, livin' with a fine-ass, rich-ass, dangerous-ass nigga like that, and you don’t got nothin’ juicy to tell us?”

I hesitated because I actually did have plenty to say. I could tell them about the way Shooter handled me last night like he had all the time in the world to ruin me. The way his hands fit perfectly on my body, the way he made my toes curl, the way I woke up aching for him again, only for him to get dressed like nothing happened and tell me to do laundry like I was some little housewife. I could tell them that I hated how much I liked it, but I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

“Married life is… an adjustment,”

I finally settled on.

Kalea side-eyed me. “That sounds like some PR-approved response.”

Mecca leaned in, smirking. “Translation: that man got you open.”

“No, he doesn’t,”

I snapped, too quickly, making them all holler in laughter again.

Retia grinned, passing me the blunt. “So what’s the deal? You in love already?”

I coughed mid-inhale. “Hell no.”

“Uh huh.”

She took the blunt back, nodding like she already knew the truth. “That’s what you say now.”

I sucked my teeth and reached for my drink again, refusing to engage. The conversation eventually moved on to gossip—who was messing with who, which girl we went to school with was now suddenly a ‘soft life’ influencer, and how one of our old flings was apparently in jail.

The music played low in the background, some old-school R&B setting the vibe, and the wine kept flowing. It was exactly what I needed… and then my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen, my stomach flipping the second I saw Shooter's name.

I hope your little playdate going well.

I narrowed my eyes, my fingers twitching over the keyboard.

Mind ya business.

Seconds later, three little dots appeared, and then came his reply.

I will when you learn how to act.

I scoffed. That man was insufferable. But my body? My body didn’t seem to care. It was already humming at just the thought of him. I exhaled, shaking my head. Nope. I wasn’t about to do this with him right now. I threw my phone onto the couch and turned my attention back to my girls, forcing myself to let it go.

“O h h h , I w a n n a dance with somebody…”

Mecca was screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs, swaying with a wine glass in one hand and the karaoke mic in the other, while the rest of us cackled and cheered her on.

“Bitch, you sound terrible!”

I laughed, clutching my stomach as I doubled over.

“I don’t care!”

she yelled back, completely unbothered, flipping her long hair dramatically. “I wanna feel the heat with somebody!”

Kalea and Retia were on the couch, weak with laughter, swaying drunkenly to the music while I danced barefoot in the middle of the living room, wine glass in hand. The penthouse was a vibe.

The liquor was warm in my system, the music was loud, and I was actually having fun—something I hadn’t felt in a minute. We had been drinking since noon, snacking on fruit and junk food, talking shit about old flings, and now, karaoke had turned into a whole performance. Mecca passed me the mic, and I grinned, already feeling myself.

“Hold up, let me get my song together,”

I slurred, scrolling through the options. “We need something real.”

Kalea leaned over to look. “Oh shit, you pickin’ Monica? You know that’s our shit!”

I smirked and clicked on “So Gone,”

stepping back with my drink in hand as the opening beat played. By the time I hit the chorus, everybody was singing along, belting out the lyrics like we had real heartbreak to sing about.

“So gone, over you, you, you, you!”

We were loud. We were drunk. We didn’t give a damn… until Shooter walked in. The energy shift was immediate. His presence was like a heavy weight settling over the penthouse, shutting everything down in an instant. The door clicked closed behind him, and the only sound left was Monica’s voice still playing in the background.

I turned, my buzz still thick, and locked eyes with him. He stood there, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he owned the place—which, technically, he did—but the way he was looking at me? Like I was the only thing in the room worth noticing? It did something to me.

His blue eyes dragged over me slowly, taking in my messy bun, my oversized off-the-shoulder sweater that had slid down one arm, exposing my skin, and the way my thighs were peeking out from my tiny-ass shorts. And then he smirked. The bastard.

“Uh… we should probably go,”

Kalea mumbled, already sliding into her heels.

Retia cleared her throat and grabbed her purse, stumbling slightly. “Yeah, um, we love you, . Be safe, okay?”

“Noooo…”

I whined, narrowing my eyes at them. “Y’all serious right now?”

Mecca snorted, swaying a little as she passed by me, whispering, “Bitch, your husband just cleared the whole vibe. We out.”

I turned back toward Shooter, fuming. He hadn’t even said anything yet, and my girls were already running scared. They wobbled their way toward the elevator, drunkenly giggling and throwing a few "he’s so fine though”

comments my way before disappearing behind the doors.

The second they were gone, I whirled back to him, seething. “What the hell is your problem?”

I snapped, somewhat slurring my words. “You just had to show up and ruin my damn girls’ day, huh?”

Shooter didn’t say a word. Just stared. His arms were still folded, his broad frame leaning against the wall while his cold, unreadable gaze stayed pinned on me. I could still feel the liquor humming in my veins, making me bolder, making my words sharper.

“You think you can just walk in here, and shit stops moving?”

I stepped closer, my lip curled in frustration. “You always think—”

“You done talkin’ shit?”

His deep, lazy drawl cut through my rant, shutting me right the hell up. I huffed, crossing my arms as I glared at him. Shooter tilted his head, like he was amused by my little tantrum, and then, just as smoothly, he lifted a hand and summoned me with two fingers. “Come here.”

I stayed right where I was, defiant, even though my pulse was already racing. His gaze darkened. “I won’t say it again, Mrs. Mosley.”

The way that rolled off his tongue made my stomach flip, made my body react before my mind could catch up. I threw back the rest of my drink, slammed the empty glass onto the table, and slowly walked toward him, making sure my sway was extra damn bold, even as my heart pounded.

The second I was close enough, his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, pulling me in so fast my breath hitched. His grip was firm, controlling, his thumb pressing just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with. His blue eyes burned into mine, his voice low and dangerous.

“You wanna sleep off that liquor?”

he murmured. “Or get put to sleep instead?”

I didn’t even hesitate. Before another second could pass, I launched my arms around his neck and crushed my mouth to his, kissing him hungrily, furiously, like I hated how bad I wanted him. Shooter didn’t miss a beat.

He caught me, owned me, his grip on my throat tightening before he lifted me off my feet. My legs locked around his waist as he turned, claiming my mouth like he was trying to punish me for every ounce of attitude I gave him.

I clawed at his button-down, trying to get closer, trying to take more, but he was already in control, kissing me deep, teasing me with his tongue, making me need him even more. My body was on fire, my mind spinning. I couldn’t wait to have him inside me again.

And something about the way he carried me off toward the bedroom, his lips still owning mine, told me he was about to give me exactly what I wanted. My heart thudded rapidly in my chest, anticipation pooling deep between my thighs as his strong grip tightened around me. He kicked open the bedroom door effortlessly, striding inside like he owned every inch of this penthouse—me included.

He tossed me onto the mattress, my body bouncing against the soft sheets. I barely had time to catch my breath before he stood over me, those icy blue eyes heavy with lust and possession. My mouth went dry. This man was dangerous, and yet I couldn’t help but provoke him. “Don’t think this means you run shit,”

I breathed defiantly, propping myself up on my elbows and gazing up at him. “Just because you got some good dick doesn’t mean—”

He grabbed my ankles suddenly, pulling me roughly to the edge of the bed, silencing me mid-sentence. Shooter’s hands were everywhere, gripping my thighs, spreading my legs apart, his touch firm and unyielding.

“You love talkin’ shit,”

he growled, voice low and husky, eyes burning into mine. “Let’s see how much mouth you got left after I fuck the attitude outta you again.”

My breath hitched, heart slamming into my rib cage. Heat flushed my entire body as I met his gaze with a challenging stare while peeling off my sweatshirt. “Prove it.”

A slow, dangerous smirk crept onto his lips as he peeled off my silky shorts, tossing them carelessly aside. My pulse quickened as he kneeled between my thighs, his breath hot against my skin. I shivered, anticipation almost unbearable. His tongue traced a slow, torturous line up my inner thigh, teasing me mercilessly. I squirmed beneath his touch, pride slipping as my need for him grew unbearable.

“Shooter, stop playing,”

I demanded, voice shaky.

“Ask nicely,”

he commanded roughly, gaze locked on mine as he hovered inches from my aching center.

My stubbornness flared, fighting the submissive instinct he effortlessly drew out of me. “I’m not begging you, Shooter.”

He chuckled darkly, gripping my hips, pinning me down. “Oh, you gon’ beg tonight. And you gon’ mean every fuckin’ word.”

Before I could snap back, his mouth descended on my pussy, tongue circling and tasting, claiming me with ruthless expertise. My back arched instantly, a sharp moan escaping my lips as he devoured me hungrily, relentlessly. His tongue plunged deeply, expertly teasing my clit with each heated stroke. I writhed beneath him, nails clawing desperately at the sheets.

“Oh, my Godddd!!! Shoooooter, fuuuuckkk!”

I moaned helplessly, gripping his head tightly, pressing him closer. My thighs trembled violently, pleasure building until it bordered on agony.

“Exactly,”

he growled again, lips glistening with my wetness. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Stubbornness cracked beneath raw desire. I gave in, pride dissolving instantly. “Yourssss. Fuck, it’s yours.”

His grin was triumphant as he rose swiftly, stripping off his shirt and pants with ruthless efficiency. My eyes roamed hungrily over his sculpted muscles, tattoos, and the massive, throbbing dick that he freed from his boxer briefs. My mouth watered, craving him more than I cared to admit.

He crawled over me, capturing my wrists, pinning them firmly above my head. His dominance was clear. There was no room for defiance tonight. I struggled playfully, but his grip tightened, his face inches from mine, hot breath mingling with my own. “You done bein’ a fuckin’ brat?”

he rasped against my lips, pressing his cock against my slick entrance, teasing, torturing me further.

“Fuck you,”

I hissed defiantly, challenging him again.

He smirked darkly, his eyes flashing with menace. “Nah, babygirl, I'm 'bout to fuck you.”

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside me, stretching me completely. I gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders, pain and pleasure fusing into something electric, consuming. “You still wanna talk shit?”

he growled, setting a punishing pace, his hips slamming into me, every thrust hitting that spot perfectly.

“Oh my God,”

I whimpered, head thrown back. Shiiiittt…“

His rhythm was merciless, possessive strokes filling me up, marking me as his with every thrust. He leaned down, his mouth claiming mine roughly, tongues tangled in desperation. I bit his lip, drawing a hiss from him that only made him fuck me harder.

“This is what you want?”

he asked, his voice deep and ragged, dripping with possessiveness.

“Yessss,”

I cried out, surrendering completely. “Fuck your pussyyyy!!”

“That's right,”

he snarled against my throat, sucking, biting, marking my skin. “Don’t ever fuckin’ forget this shit mine.”

He flipped me effortlessly, flat on my stomach, and drove himself deeper inside me from behind. Slowly. Deliberately. His slowing it down only drove me crazier, and he knew it. Shooter gripped my chin, turning my head as my eyes rolled backwards. “Don’t fuckin’ play with me, ,”

he groaned roughly.

“Okayyyy!”

I screamed, fingers clutching the sheets desperately, pleasure nearly blinding me as my face hit the pillow. “God, Shooter, don’t stop!”

He gripped my hips and lifted me up, pulling my back against his chest as his strokes became faster and deeper. His mouth brushed against my ear, voice low and deadly. “Cum on this dick, . Right fuckin' now.”

His command sent me spiraling, my orgasm hitting like a violent storm. My vision blurred, body shaking uncontrollably as I shattered completely, gasping his name over and over, pussy clenching tightly around his dick. He groaned harshly, burying himself deeper with raw, possessive thrusts as he came, his warmth spilling inside me, sealing his claim.

We collapsed against the sheets, chests heaving, sweaty bodies tangled. Shooter’s grip around me was still firm, possessive, letting me know there was no escape. He brushed my hair from my damp forehead, lips grazing softly along my neck.

“Keep testin’ me, ,”

he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You already know how this shit gon' end every single time.”

Breathless and trembling, I tried to regain composure. But damn if he wasn’t right. No matter how much I fought, how much I challenged him, Shooter always won. He always had me right where he wanted me.