Page 170 of I See You

He nutted hard, deep, thick ropes spilling inside her raw—but he wasn’t done.

After shooting every ounce of his nut in her, he dipped low and spread her open, dragging his tongue over her ass. Slow. Deep.Dirty. He'd never eaten ass before, but Sevyn had him crossing every boundary, and he didn’t give a fuck.

He licked her like she was a sweet dessert, switching between her pussy and her ass, savoring her taste like he needed it to survive. And when she came again, legs trembling, body weak and sensitive—he wasn’t finished.

“Ride yo shit, baby,” he ordered, voice low and hungry. Sevyn didn’t hesitate.

She straddled him, dropping down with that tight, warm grip as her ass clapped against his thighs, bouncing on his dick like she knew exactly what he liked. He gripped her waist, biting his lip, head tilted back as she rolled her hips just right.

“Shittttt,” he hissed, watching her ride with a vengeance. Her moans were reckless now. Loud. Unfiltered. His name falling from her lips like a prayer and a curse.

They went all night. Round after round. Sweat-slicked, tangled in each other, fucking like they were trying to break the bed and stitch their souls together in the process.

Hassan usually tapped out after one nut—most women he dealt with couldn’t keep up with him. Either they were too weak, too lazy, or just not good enough to make him want more. But Sevyn? She was different. She matched his pace, his pressure, his rhythm. Her pussy was the kind of addiction that snatched his focus and fucked with his self-control. No matter how hard he tried to pull back, he kept diving in for more—kept tasting her, feeling her, craving every inch like she was made just for him.

By the time the sun started to rise, Sevyn knew what it was. Knew exactly what she had become.

Hassan was no longer her client.

And she had no plans of letting him go either.

Chapter 21

Harper sat at the elegant glass table, slowly swirling the wine in her glass, watching the sun dip below the horizon in hues of burnt orange and deep plum. The view from Hassan's vacation house—a sleek, modern estate nestled just outside the city—was nothing short of breathtaking. It was peaceful, detached from the noise of Memphis, and felt like the only place in the world quiet enough to hold the weight of what she was about to do.

Hassan owned houses all across the city. Some he rented out, others stayed vacant, and a few were just for nights he didn’t want women knowing where he laid his head. But this one? This house was different. It was untouched, serene—like a clean slate. And that’s exactly why Harper chose it. If she was going to face her father, if she was going to unearth the trauma she spent years burying, she needed a place that didn’t carry the ghosts of her past.

She took another sip of wine, nerves tangling in her chest. She’d avoided this for years. Avoided him. Avoided the hurt. Avoided the pieces of herself that shattered the night he betrayed her in the worst way a father could. She was tired of carrying it. Tired of walking through life guarded, broken, and incapable of trusting a man enough to even let him get close. Hassan and Roman were the only men she ever let in—and even that took time, patience, and their relentless presence to earn.

But after watching Hassan—the coldest, most guarded manthere was—take those first steps toward healing with Sevyn's help, something shifted inside her. If he could do it… so could she.

She couldn’t thank Sevyn enough. Not just for what she did for Hassan, but for the way she poured into Harper too. Gently. Constantly. Honestly. It was Sevyn who planted the seed. Who encouraged this moment. And now here she was… at the start of something terrifying, but necessary.

Healing. It wasn’t for him. It was for her.

The longer she waited, the heavier her chest felt. Harper sat with a stiffspine, her heart pounding like it knew something her mind hadn’t admitted yet—this wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t want to meet in public, couldn’t risk the possibility of losing control and endingup behind bars. And Madea’s house? That was out of the question. Too many ghosts lingered there. Too many memories she’d fought to forget. So she asked Hassan to use this place—a quiet, secluded home far enough from the city and its noise—for a few hours. A safe space to face her worst nightmare.

The doorbell rang, pulling her out of her spiral. She took a breath, steadying herself, and opened the door.

There he was. Hendrix. Smiling like this was just a long-overdue family reunion. Like he wasn’t the source of her deepest pain. Like he hadn’t once looked at his own daughter and seen a price tag.

She didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside.

He walked in slowly, eyes scanning the space in admiration. “This all you, babygirl?” he asked, voice low and casual, like he had the right.

That name made her stomach turn.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, her voice cold and sharp enough to slice through his bullshit.

“My bad... I know I gotta earn that,” he muttered, easing into a seat at the long glass dining table.

She didn’t sit near him. Instead, she moved to the opposite end, where her half-filled wine glass and the bottle sat waiting. She was going to need every drop of it. Because across from her sat the man who once tried to destroy her and was now sitting there like he wanted forgiveness.

“Like you earned the right to sell my body?” Her voice lashed out. “To auction off your daughter’s virginity like it was a fucking luxury item? Pure. Priceless. That’s how you described me, right?”

She wasn’t here for small talk or catch-up. She didn’t care how he’d been these past eight years. Didn’t care if he was sober now. If he had regrets. She didn’t come for apologies soaked in softness and pity. She came for the truth.

“I was a different man back then,” Hendrix said, voice lowered, trying to sound like someone healed. “I was fucked up. But I’ve changed. I just... I want to make shit right.”

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