Page 12 of Gotta Jones For Ya

Sunlight spilled through the sliver of curtains I didn’t bother closing last night, casting soft golden light across the room. Knuck’s scent still lingered and my legs still ached in the best way. I stretched, sheets tangled between my thighs, and turned over to find him already up.

Knuck was leaning against the dresser, shirtless, thick arms crossed, gray sweats slung low and clinging to that heavy print like it was made to tease me. His chain glinted in the light. Eyes locked on me like I was a sight to wake up to.

“Why are you just standing there all crazy?”

I asked, voice groggy.

He smirked slowly.

“You love callin’ me that.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the grin. He walked over, knelt on the bed beside me, brushing his fingers over my bare thigh.

“You got plans today?”

“I have to pick up a new order of lashes that came in yesterday. Other than that, no. Why?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing my cheek.

“After I take you to handle that, you comin’ back to East Hollis wit’ me.”

I blinked, sitting up a little.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,”

he said, dead serious.

“I already told my man’s to put the jet on standby. I hate flyin’ commercial wit’ other muthafuckas and I been doin’ that shit too much lately.”

“Knuck…”

“Nah, don’t ‘Knuck’ me. I done gave you space and we good now.”

Sitting up, I pulled the sheets over my aching, naked body.

“You can’t just tell me—”

“I can and I am,”

he cut in.

“I wanna show you my world for real. Introduce you to my peoples and shit. I wanna wake up to that attitude every mornin’ and fuck it outta you every night.”

My stomach flipped, and my throat went dry.

“Go ‘head. Say no.”

He tilted his head like he was daring me.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t. I just stared at him, heat building behind my ribs like my body already knew the answer before my pride could catch up.

“Pack a bag,”

he said, brushing my cheek.

“We out in two hours.”

Then he turned and walked toward my bathroom like he didn’t just flip my whole life in one sentence.

This nigga said it like we were headed to brunch, not boarding a whole damn jet.

I sat there for a second, half-naked, still sore, still throbbing, trying to catch my breath and my sanity.

I let out a deep sigh, arm tossed over my forehead, trying to act like my heart wasn’t thumping and my coochie wasn’t clapping in approval.

Because she was.

Loudly. That dick, that mouth, that energy… Knuck had me falling. Bad. Like, my common sense was gone.

I heard the water running in the bathroom, his deep hum vibrating through the walls.

I reached for my phone and slid it off the nightstand.

Notifications were lighting up already.

I didn’t respond. Just tossed my phone to the side and ran both hands down my face.

Was I really doing this? Flying out with a nigga who literally threatened to burn the city down if I blocked him again? The wild part was… I couldn’t even lie to myself any more. I wanted him. I wanted him bad. And crazy or not…

I kinda-maybe-sorta wanted to see what this was, even if it wrecked me.

**

The jet was ridiculous. Plush cream leather seats, a bar stocked with every drink imaginable, flat screens, gold fixtures, trap music playing low over the speakers.

Knuck sat across from me, relaxed, phone in one hand, glass of Don in the other. Too damn fine. I crossed my legs slowly and leaned back, sipping my champagne, pretending I wasn’t eyeing that print that had no business sitting up like that.

He caught me looking and leaned in close, that crooked smirk playing on his lips as his eyes swept over me like I was still naked.

“You know I still smell like you, right?”

His voice was low, rough, laced with pride.

“Might not ever take a shower.”

I damn near spit my champagne out, laughing. Bubbles tickling my nasal cavity.

“You’re disgusting.”

He shrugged and gulped down his drink.

“Aight. So first stop is the crib, then we can get some food and shit then—“

“Wait, wait. You just have the whole day planned already?”

“Somethin’ light. Why? What’s the word?”

I chuckled, shaking my head.

“You are something else.”

The rest of the flight was spent with him going over all the plans he had for us, including Sunday dinner at his grandmother’s house.

Was I nervous? Hell yeah.

I’d never met a nigga’s family before, especially one that I wasn’t even in a relationship with.

Well… yeah, never mind.

The wheels hit the tarmac, and I swear my heart was still catching up.

Last time I was in East Hollis, was where it all started.

Knuck flying me out and dropping that demon dick on me.

This time was different, though.

This time, I wasn’t flying commercial.

Instead, I was stepping off a damn private jet in the middle of the afternoon with someone who somehow convinced me to put everything on hold for a quick getaway.

I should’ve been panicking, but nope.

My thighs were still trembling from the way Knuck touched me mid-flight.

The humid air slapped differently as Knuck’s arm slid around my waist the second I hit the last step, guiding me like I belonged to him.

A truck was already waiting—big, black, clean as hell, and gleaming under the sun like it had just come out of the detail shop.

“Hop in, baby,”

he said low near my ear, his voice making my nipples pebble under my crop top.

I slid in, leather wrapping around me like I stepped into a different version of luxury.

Masculine.

Intimate.

It smelled like fresh pine, backwoods, and him.

He climbed in like he owned the world, shut the door, and glanced over at me with a look that could get a woman pregnant off eye contact alone.

“Welcome back to my city.”

He grinned, palm immediately settling high up on my thigh, damn near in my panties.

I gave him a side-eye but didn’t move his hand.

I was trying to be fake mad still, but his cologne, his voice, and that little smug smirk made it impossible.

“Can you keep both hands on the wheel, Mr. Jones?”

I teased, buckling my seatbelt as he pulled off smoothly.

“Sit back and relax, Ms. McCallister.”

His thumb dragged slowly over my inner thigh.

The city rolled by, block by block.

East Hollis was alive in its own way.

Again, I’d never seen a place that looked this gritty and beautiful at the same time. There was culture in the air. History. Hustle. And now that I knew more about Knuck, he belonged here. You could feel it.

“You starin’ hard,”

he said with a laugh, turning down the music as we hit the freeway.

“I’m just taking it all in. This time feels different. This isn’t just sex, Keon.”

“Been tryna tell your ass that.”

I rolled my eyes, and he chuckled, lacing his fingers with mine.

“I gotchu. This my city. I’ma show you a good time aside from droppin’ this dick off in you.”

That confidence was different. It wasn’t just cocky. It was real. You could tell this city molded him. East Hollis ran through his veins like blood, and now I was here in the passenger seat, thighs tight, cheeks warm, wondering how the hell I let this man pull me into his world so quickly.

“You nervous?”

he asked, glancing at me.

“I ain’t never nervous,” I lied.

He smirked.

“We’ll see.”

We rolled down a quiet residential street, a black gate guarding a sleek modern home tucked between two older remodels. He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, then leaned in. Knuck kissed my cheek and then climbed out, coming around to open the passenger door. And of course I didn’t stop him.

This wasn’t a regular home.

This was some grown-man, kingpin-with-good-taste shit.

As soon as the door swung open, a subtle blend of masculine cologne, lemon wood, and money hit me square in the face.

Not literal money—but that smell you associate with being well-kept, exclusive, expensive.

The kind of scent you could only get from hand-picked candles and somebody’s auntie who knew what oils to mix.

“Damn…”

I muttered before I could stop myself.

The foyer alone looked like something out of one of them home décor pages—dark hardwood floors, gold inlays, oversized abstract art on the walls that probably cost more than my rent.

His whole downstairs layout was open concept, the kind that flowed effortlessly into a sunken living room with a sectional that could seat ten and a fireplace trimmed in smooth matte black.

Floor-to-ceiling bay windows showed off the night skyline, and the city lights bounced off the polished floors like they knew who the hell owned this place.

Pictures hung above a low console—some of him younger with a fresh temp fade and braces, him with a woman I assumed was his mom, and a few with an older woman who had to be his grandma.

You could tell he loved her from the way he smiled in every shot she was in.

Then there were a few candid ones—hood polaroid-style, with faces blurred mid-laugh, cash being flashed, red cups held high.

Real memories. Real people.

I was lowkey stunned.

He kissed my cheek and said, “Gimme a few. I’ma go shower, change and make some calls. Kick back, baby.”

Then he disappeared up the wide floating staircase like he had zero worries in the world.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Then I walked toward the bathroom and snapped a mirror selfie to post on my story.

Out the way… because yeah… I kinda was.

I had just sunk back into the couch again when I heard his deep voice coming down the stairs.

“Nah, make sure that nigga know what’s at stake ‘cause if I do it, his mama gon’ request a closed casket. That’s what I pay you for. I’m just ‘round to collect.”

His tone was smooth but firm, the kind that made men tighten up and women cross their legs.

My head turned, and my eyes immediately locked on him.

Light blue jeans, navy blue Essentials shirt, white sneakers and a fitted on his head. Diamond chains back around his neck, designer watch catching the glow from his recessed lights.

And the smell? Damn.

Whatever the hell soap, cologne, or potion he used in that shower needed to be bottled and sold on God’s green earth.

Because he smelled too good. Dangerously good. Like heartbreak and home all in one breath.

“Hold on. Kev on my other line,”

he said into the phone, taking a pull from the blunt between his fingers.

“Yeah… aight, bet. Yeah, sign off on it and email me the paperwork, bro. Good looks.”

He ended the call, placed his phone in his pocket, and then put the blunt in the ashtray on the coffee table. He turned toward me, flashing that damn gold-mouthed grin that had been wrecking my willpower since the moment I met him.

“You ready to get some food?”

he asked, walking toward me slowly like he already knew the answer.

“A nigga starvin’ like a muthafucka.

I swallowed, nodded.

And then I was in my head again—heart racing, thighs pressed, eyes locked on a nigga I knew I shouldn’t be falling for but damn sure was.

Every look, every touch, every fucking word that came out of his mouth felt like a slow unraveling.

I hadn’t even been here a full hour, and I could already feel it happening. I was falling.