Page 70 of Certified Pressure
Pluto nodded, her excitement barely contained. “I’ll be ready,” she said, her voice calm, but her eyes givin’ her away.
Out the corner of my eye, I caught Kashmere. She didn’t say a word, but I saw the way her gaze shifted before she turned and walked off without waitin’ to be dismissed. I knew I’d hit her with that one, even if I hadn’t meant to. She might not havewanted to admit it, but she felt somethin’ for me the same way I did for her.
I left them standin’ there and stepped into the elevator.
Back in my room, I took a shower, lettin’ the hot water roll over me until the steam filled the space. Today wasn’t just about showin’ my mama love, but was about lettin’ one of these women step into a part of my world that most people never touched.
When I got out, I went straight to my closet. I pulled on a crisp blackTom Fordbutton-down, black tailoredAmiritrousers, and a pair of freshChristian Louboutinloafers. My jewelry was clean—the diamond Cuban link, matchin’ bracelet, and my watch, a customPatek Philippeiced just enough to catch the light without screamin’ for attention. For scent, I went withCreed Aventus, that rich, smooth smell that lingered without being overpowering.
By the time I made it back down to the first floor, Pluto was there waitin’.
And for a second, it was like I was seein’ her for the first time.
Her hair was styled in soft waves that framed her face perfectly, the makeup subtle but flawless, givin’ her skin a glow like she’d been lit from within. She was wearin’ a rich black dress that hugged her in all the right places, the color makin’ her brown skin look even richer. The heels were simple but elegant.
She stood there with her hands in front of her, but the way her chin was lifted, and her eyes was fixed on me told me she knew she looked good.
“Damn,” I said without meanin’ to, lettin’ my eyes travel from head to toe and back. “You ready?”
She smiled, her eyes were shining. “Ready.”
I stepped up and took her hand. It fit in mine like a glove.
We headed to the car, still holdin’ hands, and I could feel the weight of what today meant for her… and maybe for me too.
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
Icouldn’t believe this nigga. He stood there in the foyer, looking dead at all of us like we were pawns on some chessboard, and he really called Pluto’s name. Out of everybody he could have picked to meet his mama, he chose her. My chest went hot, and I swear I felt my stomach drop straight to the floor.
I kept my face still because I wasn’t about to give these other bitches the satisfaction of seeing me break, but inside I was a whole mess. The crazy part was I knew this was supposed to be a competition. I knew Pressure was supposed to spend time with all of us, figure out who fit his life best, and cut the rest loose. But knowing that didn’t do a damn thing to stop how I felt for him.
From the moment we started clicking, it had been different. We weren’t just vibing, we were moving like we already had something real. Every touch, every look, every time he pulled me into his space, it felt like he was telling me I was his without saying the words. That’s why watching him pick Pluto hit so deep. It wasn’t just about her meeting his mama. It was him saying without saying that she was worth showing to the most important woman in his life.
And maybe, if it had been anybody else, I could have brushed it off. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like somebody just snatched the rug out from under me. But Pluto? That stung different.
We came in here together, thick as thieves. First week, we were laughing, sharing a room, eating meals side by side, whispering about the other women like two girls at a sleepover. Now we barely looked at each other in passing. Somewhere along the line, the competition stopped being about us against the rest and turned into this quiet war we weren’t even speaking on. She started pulling back as soon as she saw where my feelings for Pressure was going, and I guess I pulled back too without realizing it.
The tension got so bad that the second more women were eliminated and empty rooms opened up, I moved my stuff out. I didn’t make an announcement or create a big scene. I just grabbed my bags and slid into a new space. The peace was worth it.
Now I was in that room, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands while I tried to fight back tears. I hated that I was even crying over this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I came here with my own reasons, and yes, I thought Pressure was fine, but I didn’t plan on catching feelings like this. That was my first mistake.
The second was letting him fuck so soon. I couldn’t even lie to myself about that one. The minute I let him have me, it set the tone, and now it felt like that’s all he wanted from me. We would still talk, laugh and joke like we always did, but deep down I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I told him “no” for too long, he would move on to the next one without a second thought.
I stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and let my mind drift to all the ways I could fix this mess for myself. The only option that made sense was packing my shit and going home. Just leave it all behind, the drama, the jealousy, the pretending like I didn’t care when I did. I could go back to my own bed, my own life, and train my brain to act like Pressure never existed.
But even as I thought it, the memories came uninvited. The first time I realized he was cool people was that first night out on the patio with him and Pluto. The three of us were sitting back, passing the blunt to each other, just letting the conversation flow. He was stretched out in his chair, talking his shit but still listening when we spoke, and every so often he’d say something slick that had me and Pluto both cracking up.
Then there was the night in the hot tub. The steam was rising all around us, and he had his hand at the back of my neck while he kissed me like he’d been waiting to do it for years. The water moved around us, and it felt like the whole world had disappeared as we fucked.
I thought about how we would watch TV in his room, stretched out across his bed with our legs tangled up while he kept the remote hostage like he actually knew what I wanted to watch. We’d argue about the dumbest shit just so we could keep talking, and somehow those little arguments always ended with us pillow fighting and wrestling in bed, laughing until our stomachs hurt. We’d sit side by side, smoking, take walksoutside, holding hands and then out of nowhere he’d start talking about life, and what he wanted for his future.
He’d joke about what our kids would look like if we ever had any—saying the baby would have my big forehead and his nose, and how it would be a “little boss baby” before it could even walk. I’d throw a pillow at him, and he’d just grin like he knew he was getting under my skin. But then the joking would fade into real talk, like how both of our fathers were successful and how that shaped us, how it made us want more for ourselves.
Then all it would take was a look, and we both knew where it was headed. He would give me that slow, cocky smile like he already knew I was about to let him fuck my whole soul out, and he wasn’t wrong. His eyes had this pull that stripped me bare before he even touched me, like he could read every filthy thought running through my head. The second his hands hit my skin, I came undone. He would grab my ass, pull me close, and kiss me like he was tryna steal every breath I had left.
We would fuck like we were trying to break the bed, like we ain’t seen each other in years and had to make up for every second missed. He’d flip me over, eat my pussy like it was his last meal, sucking and spitting on my shit until my thighs shook, then slide his dick back in while I was still losing my mind. I’d be scratching his back up, moaning his name, and he’d be right there in my ear telling me to take all of it. Pressure fucked me like he owned me, and the crazy thing is, I let him.
It was always nasty, slapping, choking, him grabbing my face and spitting in my mouth before kissing me deep like we weren’t in the middle of something filthy. I would ride him until he was cussing, until his hands locked on my hips and he started meeting me stroke for stroke. And when we came, it wasn’t no quiet, pretty shit. We would be holding onto each other for dear life, our bodies shaking, still grinding slow because it was never enough.
