Page 59 of Certified Pressure
And in that moment, I realized something…
Whatever was going on between us now wasn’t going away on its own.
Riding with Pressure had me feeling like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
The sun was out but not blinding, and the breeze felt good as hell with the top down, blowing through my curls while we slid through the city. Pressure had one hand resting on the wheel and the other holding a thick blunt, his wrist heavy with diamonds that caught the light every time he lifted it to his lips. The speakers thumped low, some old school Trill shit that fit the mood perfectly, and every time he passed the blunt to me, I pulled slow and deep, letting it hit me in waves that melted whatever I’d been holding on to earlier.
I didn’t know if it was the way the wind moved through the car, or the smell of his cologne mixing with the weed, or the factthat I didn’t have to say much to feel understood, but being next to him felt good. I had woken up feeling off, but that feeling was long gone. Riding with Pressure wasn’t just a distraction—it was an escape, and I needed that.
He hit a couple backstreets I’d never been down before, dipping through Drahma Town. The first stop was behind a car wash that looked closed, but as soon as we pulled up, two of his potnas came from the side of the building like they already knew what time it was. Pressure popped the trunk and handed off a black duffel bag that smelled like money and loud, then took something smaller in return—vacuum-sealed, and tucked tight. They dapped him up and nodded at me before disappearing again.
He slid back in the driver’s seat like it was nothing and pulled off smooth.
I didn’t ask what was in the bags or what they gave him back. I didn’t need to. I was just taking it all in—the movement, the respect, the way everybody seemed to move when he moved. I could tell this wasn’t no show. This was his everyday life, and for whatever reason, he was letting me witness it.
We made a few more stops like that. One outside an apartment complex where the doorman didn’t even blink when he handed off a bag. Another behind a studio where a rapper I recognized from my Explore page came out with a ski mask halfway on, shook Pressure’s hand like he owed him his next hit, and dipped just as fast. The whole time, Pressure barely said more than a few words, but everybody listened when he did.
Time got lost. The weed hit, the sun shifted, and the day kept unfolding like it had a plan of its own. I wasn’t rushing it. I leaned into the music, the moment and the way his hand found my thigh while he drove like we’d done this a hundred times. He didn’t ask how I was feeling, but somehow he knew I was good.
After a while, he turned off the main road and followed this long dirt trail that twisted through a line of trees. I didn’t even ask where we were going. I just looked around and let the moment settle in. We pulled up to this secluded little spot that overlooked a stretch of water. It wasn’t a beach or a park, but this hidden rock formation with a clear view of the skyline and the way the sun was starting to bleed into the clouds. It looked like the kind of place he came to think.
He parked and got out first, then came around to open my door. I stepped out and followed him up a short incline until we reached one of the wide, flat rocks that looked perfect to sit on. He sat down and patted the space next to him, and I didn’t hesitate. I slid in close and crossed my legs, letting the heat from the stone warm my skin while he sparked another blunt.
We passed it back and forth for a few minutes, just sitting in the breeze, letting the quiet stretch.
“So what you think about the other women?” I asked, not really sure why I brought it up, but the words left my mouth before I could pull them back.
He looked ahead, his eyes scanning the water like he was bored of the whole topic. “They straight.”
I nodded slowly, trying not to let that answer bother me, but something about how easily he said it made my stomach twist a little. I wanted to ask about Kashmere, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t wanna sound like I was worried about the next woman, even though part of me was. I didn’t even know if I had the right to feel that way, but it was there.
Pressure turned and looked at me for a long second, like he could see straight through me.
Then he reached out, slid his hand under my chin, and tilted my face toward his.
“But I like you,” he said.
That one sentence smoothed out every wrinkle in my chest. I held his gaze, trying to stay calm even though my heart was tapping at my ribs like it wanted to break free.
He leaned in and kissed me, soft at first, then deeper. His lips moved with mine like he knew how to unlock something in me that I didn’t even know I was keeping locked up. His hand slid up my side, then back down slow, gripping my waist and pulling me closer. I touched his face, then his neck, and melted into him like I’d been waiting all day to do it.
“I’m ready,” I whispered, looking up at him between kisses.
He paused, and for a second, I thought he didn’t hear me. But then he looked away, like he was thinking hard about something, and shook his head once.
“You think you are,” he said, “but you not.”
He stood up and reached for my hand. “Come on.”
But I stayed sitting.
“I don’t wanna go.”
He looked down at me, his jaw working, like he wanted to stay solid but was already starting to fold.
I reached for him and pulled him closer, and he didn’t resist. He stepped in between my legs while I sat on the rock, and placed both hands on my waist, gripping it tight. His eyes searched mine, then slowly trailed down my chest.
His fingers moved up my stomach and slid beneath my top, taking his time as he pushed the fabric up until my breast was exposed. Still staring into my eyes, he leaned down and wrapped his lips around my nipple, sucking slow, then deeper, until I had to close my eyes and grab the back of his head.
