Page 4 of Gotta Jones For Ya
“Bout time,” he said. “Been dreamin’ ’bout that pussy since you left.”
He didn’t even let me set my purse down. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the room like he owned the lease on my body. Slammed the door behind us and pressed me against it with that wild look in his eyes like I’d been gone too long.
“You think you slick,” he growled against my neck, kissing, biting. “Think you gon’ gimme that pretty pussy and never see me again? You gon’ pay for that.” Stepping back, he admired me. “Take that shit off. All of it. Slowly. Keep them heels on, though.”
Breathless and turned the fuck on, I slid out of my black dress inch by inch. Let it pool at my feet, revealing nothing but smooth skin and lace. His eyes got darker. His dick got harder. He stripped down fast. No teasing. Just muscles, veins, and a big ass, thick dick that stood like it had every intention of ruining me.
He got on his knees and kissed the insides of my thighs and then grabbed behind them and lifted me off the floor like I weighed air.
“I want that pussy on my tongue,” he muttered, laying me on the edge of the bed. He guided me up his chest, leaned back on the pillows, and grabbed my hips. I slid forward until Iwas sitting fully on his face, grinding against his tongue, thighs trembling. He sucked and moaned like he needed me to live.
“Mmm… fuck, Keon… right there. Yesssss…”
His tongue flicked, swirled, and dipped. He alternated between slow circles and deep strokes, nose buried, hands gripping my ass like it was his last meal. He didn’t stop when I came the first time. Or the second.
I panted, grabbing his dick, stroking it while my legs still shook. He grinned, lips shiny. “You dyin’ to ride this dick, huh?”
“Shut up,” I whispered, climbing over him.
I straddled him forward first, slid down onto his dick slowly while watching his face twist like I’d just saved his life. “Fuck,” he grunted. His hands flew to my hips. I moved slowly, grinding, swiveling, bouncing, and clapping down on him like I needed it. Shit, I did. I leaned forward, kissed his neck, then sat up and arched, bouncing faster.
“You tryna have a nigga wife you right fuckin’ now,” he groaned, biting his lip. Then I spun around, reversed, and dropped back on him with that nasty grind. Riding backwards, hands planted on his thighs, while I popped my pussy like a pro. “That’s it,” he moaned, fingers finding their way to my clit. “Let everybody hear who this pussy belong to.”
I came so many times that I lost count. Knuck held me in place, dick buried deep, groaning. Then, he stood up, picked me up with him still inside, and walked us over to the mirror. I should’ve seen this position coming.
“Look at yourself,” he said, holding me up, fucking me standing. I stared into the mirror, watching him behind me just drilling my pussy. Sweat dripping, muscles flexing, eyes lockedon mine. “I want you like this every mornin’. Every night. I want niggas scared to even look at you. I wanna tatt your name on my fuckin’ dick, Nyomi.”
“Keon, please…” I moaned, trembling, overstimulated, and cumming again.
“I said you mine,” he growled in my ear, digging in deep, pulling my hair gently. “Say it. Say that shit.”
“I’m not…” I gasped.
“And I’m not lettin’ you go,” he said between deep, powerful strokes. “Don’t care if you block me, call the cops, or change cities. I’m in you.”
He pounded into me with so much passion, I cried out and clawed at the damn mirror like it could save me from the orgasms ripping through me. My body was done. My soul was trembling. My logic? Long gone. I came again and again.
And when we both collapsed on the bed, sweaty, tangled, and breathless, Knuck kissed my forehead and whispered, “You can lie to yourself, but your pussy don’t lie. And it’s tellin’ me we meant to be together, baby." As I lay there, legs still twitching, chest still rising fast, I blinked slowly up at the ceiling and realized one thing. This fool was legit crazy.
Chapter Three
A Week & Some Change Later
“You still stalkin’ her stories like a nut?”
I looked up from my phone, unbothered. “Yeah. And?”
My nigga Kev burst out laughin’, tossin’ a microfiber towel over his shoulder. “Yo, you really down bad. You own a dealership, move weight on the low, and got baddies tryna throw you pussy in every DM. But you sprung over shortymilesaway?”
“I’m not sprung. I’m in love, nigga,” I corrected, scrollin’ slowly on Nyomi’s profile.
Kev smirked and leaned against the white Benz he just finished detailin’ for a rapper wit’ too much money and not enough sense. “That girl must got voodoo in her pussy.”
“Might be,” I said wit’ a shrug. “Either way, she got a nigga Jonesin’ bad.”
Later that night, I slid through to my grandmother’s spot over on Maple Road after makin’ sure everything was good wit’ my soldiers in the streets and collectin’ money. Granny’s house was my safe zone. She raised me, my twin sister, and my cousins. It was chill as fuck over there. Just good food, shit talkin’ and good vibes.
“Boy, stop sniffin’ ‘round my kitchen like a hound,” Granny scolded, hand on her hip. “You ain't even greet me properly.”
