Page 7 of Drill Session

We laid still for a millisecond until he pulled out of me and sucked whatever left over nut spewed out of me, so he could taste it; devouring the taste on his tongue. I let him do whatever because I was so far gone. Once I released my ankles, I let my legs dangle alongside him. With him kneeling between my thighs, he nibbled on my pussy, mumbling how sweet we tasted every now and then. A few minutes later, I tried to drift off into a deep slumber, until he shook my shoulder, stirring me awake. I don’t know how he still had energy after putting dick down like that.

“Bae, get up. You gon’ be tripping if I don’t wake you up to shower.”

Hearing him say that my eyelids fluttered open. I got on him about fucking me without waking me up to shower every time. I hate going to bed dirty. He didn’t make it to be a big deal, but after every fuck session, no matter who tired or bent I deemed to be, I still wanted to shower. I could barely keep my eyes open as I washed myself up, but Drill talked to me about irrelevant shit to get me to stay awake.

Before washing up, Drill helped me wash my make up off. My poor baby was suffering because out of everything I packed up, my skin care essentials were fully loaded from everything to under eye cream, serum, lip scrub, and facial wash. Back home, Drill would make fun of how long it’d take me to come to bed when he came over to my place or when I was over his house, after doing my skin care. To settle his nerves for now, my La Roche-Posay facial cleanser, Good Molecules skin toner and Tatcha serum would suffice for now without me throwing a fit.

I don’t know when Drill changed the sheets, but the covers were flipped back so I nestled in the bed, and snuggled them under my chin, eyeing his every move. Out of habit, my eyes shifted to his third leg, that dangled every which way, looking like a baby arm. When he caught me, I quickly darted my eyes elsewhere or he’d try to start something.

Climbing onto the bed, he jokingly smacked my ass and gave it a quick kiss before I jokingly shuffled away from him. “Drill quit it,” I whined.

“Quit playin’ like I didn’t catch you staring at my dick. Fuck around and make me fuck another a baby in you girl.” With a gesture, his arms snaked around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. His body heat made it hard for me to resist, aside from the ignorant shit talking.

“I’m sure they sale Plan B’s out here.” I stated, with a smirk.

“That ain’t shit but the Devil’s work,” he rebutted. “A lil’ pill can’t stop me baby. I got top of the line, primo nut,” he spoke cockily.

My brows rose inquisitively at his banter, causing me to turn around, with his arms still draped around me to face him. Sleep wasn’t a thought now. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

His eyes were closed as mine danced over his smooth skin; similar to a baby’s bottom. His beard was thick with gray strands noticeable now. “I thought you said I don’t have any chicken heads to worry about?”

“And you don’t. I don’t stick raw dick in chicken heads,” he stated.

“I beg your pardon?”

Drill chuckled. Pearly white teeth peeked through his kissable lips, as the corners of his mouth grew wide. He opened his eyes to see me staring at him with a disapproving glare. “Ihada baby with a girl named, Iciss,wehad a daughter. Her name was Marciss.”

“Was?”

With a slow head nod he said, “She was a stillborn.”

My heart crumbled to his pieces at his words.Marciss.Her name was etched in red across his forehead. It was a staple piece, because from where men like Drill come from, it’s a part of black culture. Tattoos…meaningful ones deserved to be showcased and that’s how black men expressed their pain. The most compelling and tragic narratives belong to men with heavily inked bodies; their thick skin, like a sheep's coat, provides an ideal surface for artistic expression. Marciss deserved that spot. Once upon a time he was her daddy… a father, before death came and clipped her wings.

“Ohh Drill, I’m so sorry to?—”

“Sorry for what, Princess?” He asked. His eyes were still closed.

“I didn’t know,” I sighed.

“You didn’t ask.”

“How long ago was this? Was it recent?” I blurted out the question, my mind already racing ahead.

“It was six months ago.”

My brows creased in confusion. That was recent, at least to me it is. “Drill!” I sat up and rested my body against the headboard. His eyes darted open and he frowned at my posture change. “That’s very recent.”

“It’s not,” he argued.

“So do ya’ll still talk or what?”

He released an exasperated sigh, seemingly annoyed with my many questions and dramatics.

“Communicate, yes, only because I’m her personal trainer. She had a nigga when we were fucking off, a little while after I was released from prison, off and on.”

My jaw dropped. “So, that’s your thing…fucking women with niggas?” My arched brow rose as I cocked my head to the side and folded my arms across my exposed breasts.

Our first session, his dick managed its way inside of my guts ending a complicated relationship with my ex-boyfriend, Corbin. However, I wanted his version of what he had going on with Iciss or whatever he felt comfortable telling me.

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