Page 34 of Yearn

But Teyonah saw me when no one else bothered to. She fed me breakfast like I belonged at her table. She handed me a sweater because she thought I might get sick. She gave me warmth I hadn’t felt since my parents died, and she didn’t even realize it.

Last week, she had ironed my shirt before my boards because she said I shouldn’t walk into something that important looking wrinkled. Then, she straightened my tie before I left, tugging the knot into place with those sexy fingers. She was so fucking close. She had a new perfume on that morning and it filled my lungs—lavender and honey.

I got so horny for her in that moment that I had to shove my fists in my pockets to hide how badly I wanted to touch her.

She probably thought she was just helping me look neat, but the gentle caress of her knuckles against my throat had my cock hard all day.

That was the difference.

The others wanted to fuck me.

Teyonah simply came by me, and I wanted to rip my chest open and hand her everything inside it.

My cock twitched again, jerking against the ladder of abs I’d carved from years of punishing discipline. The slap of it againsthard muscle sounded vulgar in the tiled silence. It looked wrong—an untamed weapon jutting out of a body built for control.

I moved my gaze lower, down to where the thick shaft curved from root to tip and met my base.

My balls hung tight beneath, swollen from holding back, skin wet and taut from the shower spray. Each drop slid over them, rolling slow.

What am I going to do? God. . .I want to go upstairs and fuck her right now. She’s lucky J and Oliver are up there. If they weren’t, I would fucking take her.

This deranged lust vibrated through my body.

If this were a case study, the diagnosis would be terminal: obsessive desire. Symptoms—hard cock, racing pulse, mind hijacked by one curvy Black woman. And the only prescription would be her wet, warm pussy, taken daily, in every possible position.

Mmmm.

I wanted to grab my cock, but instead I cupped my balls, massaging the ache without granting myself relief.

The contact made my chest shudder.

What if Teyonah was here right now?

The thought ripped through me, raw and filthy, and I let it burn deep within my core.

I would not hold back.

I squeezed my balls harder, dragging the ache out until it climbed into my gut, until the heated pleasure tangled with a pain I welcomed.

Fuck.

My cock slapped against my abs again, dripping for what I wouldn’t give it.

I closed my eyes and imagined Teyonah walking into the steam—thick hips swaying in that tight skirt, blouse tuggingacross her breasts. I pictured her watching me stroke myself like she’d caught me red-handed in the backyard.

But instead of my leaving, I would stay and she would bite her lip, cheeks flushed, and moan my name like it hurt to hold it in.

I wanted her in this bathroom right now, to lay her back against this cold tile, spread her thick legs wide, and lick her pussy until she screamed—until her perfume was replaced with the taste of her dripping down my tongue.

I wanted to fist her curls in my hand, tug her head back, and shove my cock between her lips, watching those dark brown eyes water as I fed her inch after thick inch until her throat surrendered.

I wanted to bend her over the sink and watch the mirror fog while I fucked her reflection—her breasts bouncing, her hands gripping porcelain, her mouth falling open when I slammed her full.

Christ.

Even her exhaustion turned me on—the thought of her stumbling into my arms after a ten-hour day, heels kicked aside, skirt bunched up, letting me carry her to my bed and wreck her until she forgot every burden.

I can’t keep doing this. I have to give myself relief.