Instead of tiptoeing around the idea like I was, he jumped right to it, his face pulled into a teasing expression when he urged, “Londyn, if you want me to fuck you in the ass, just say it. Otherwise, I’m about to tear this pussy up.”
The way he spoke of it so aggressively only made it that much more tempting. But then I looked at his dick again and... , “Uhhh… how about we stick to what I know you’re good at.”
He laughed, reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants for his wallet - and a condom -, pulling out a ribbed one to my delight as he replied, “Yeah, cause your ass is scared you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
While I wanted to ask if he had bought those kind just for me, I was too distracted by his claims, rolling my eyes as I said, “Boy, we’re taking anal play, not ass shots.”
“Different mission, same side effects. But I understand. I’d be scared too,” he teased as he rolled the condom on, then dropped to his knees in front of me.
“Well you better not ever go to prison then…” I warned, watching as he made himself more comfortable. And once he settled in, he wasted no time teasing me, rubbing the tip of his dick against my clit in a way that only made my appetite for him triple in size.
“You either. Cause then you won’t be able to get any of this,” he replied arrogantly, watching me squirm in reaction to his teasing as he glided from my clit down to the slick folds of my opening.
But he didn’t enter me right away, giving me a chance to respond, “I could probably bargain for it. Box of cigarettes in exchange for… shittttt. Not this.”
“Mmhmm, what’d you say?” he asked, hooking the back of my knees over his shoulders and plunging into me again, this time even deeper.
It was ridiculous how good he felt, how he filled me to the brim with the perfect balance of pleasure and pain, how he was still wearing that arrogant grin while meeting me with seemingly-endless deep strokes. And once he matched his strokes with a stiff finger against my clit, I was practically worthless, struggling to respond, “I said… this is worth… two boxes of cigarettes.”
“And what else?” he grunted, completely in his bag as he stroked me senseless without any signs of slowing up.
My eyes were tight along with my fists as I gripped into the throw pillows nearby, greedily accepting every inch he dug inside of me when I answered, “And a… fuck… book of stamps.”
“And what else?” he growled just above the sounds of our skin smacking together, the single bead of sweat building on his forehead the only sign of him being anywhere near as affected as I was. But I didn’t care if he remained in tip-top, Olympic shape as long as he didn’t stop what he was doing, especially when he demanded, “Tell me what else, Londyn.”
Any more knowledge I thought I had on the prison commissary system completely left my mind, my brain too focused on him as he increased the frequency of his strokes. It was almost as if he was purposely using his dick as a distraction to stump me, though the competitor in me allowed me to push out, “And ramen noodles.”
His strokes came to a halt, the sounds of our bodies crashing replaced with his laughs as he said, “You must got you a little prison bae if you know all this shit. Too bad he only gets pictures and a couple dollars on his books while I get to do this.” Then he dug into me with another spellbinding stroke that had me seeing stars, my skin tingling from the inside out as he delivered inch after inch of dick worth turning psycho for.
No wonder Michelle’s ass was doing construction.
Before I could spoil my bliss with thoughts of… whatever they had going on, I focused back on Chance as he started rolling his hips into me, creating a delicious friction against my clit that had me pushing him away with my fingertips. At least that’s what I was trying to do, Chance locking me in with his hands at my hips when he rumbled, “Nah, move your hands. You gettin’ all this dick.”
And, well… I moved my hands, grabbing my breasts instead as I fought against everything he was dishing out. But the feel of my nipples between my fingertips only turned me on more, the tension building down below as I begged him not to stop.
Thankfully, he accepted my pleas, seemingly going into overdrive until I came completely undone then continuing past that point to get his own. And while I probably could’ve laid right there, crumbled against the couch for the rest of the night, I damn near jumped off it when I felt his mouth covering all of me, my back arching as he gave a slow swipe with his tongue against my swollen pearl.
“Just as good as I remembered,” he moaned, landing kisses against both of my inner thighs before he stood up and headed to the bathroom.
It wasn’t even fair that he was already walking while I still felt so sensitive all over, the aftershocks steady shooting from my head to my pussy as if Chance was still inside of me. But he was far removed from the act, returning from the bathroom in all his naked glory to ask, “So when does your little prison pen pal get out? I need to know so I can watch my back.”
I wanted to laugh since the idea of me having some cold-blooded killer on my roster had him so obviously shook. But unfortunately, there wasn’t anything funny about the truth, a secret few people knew since it wasn’t exactly anything to be proud of.
Maybe it was my vulnerable state, my sex drunk haze. Or maybe I just trusted Chance enough to give him the real when I shared, “My dad had a brief prison stint. That’s how I knew the answers to your... dick Jeopardy.”
“I didn’t know your dad went to prison,” he replied, not as surprised as I expected him to be.
But I appreciated him not making a big deal about it, his reaction making me comfortable enough to explain, “Cause my mother had me telling people he was away working on an oil rig for those six and a half years. But we used to write back and forth when he was locked up. And whatever little extra money I had, I’d send so he could ball out; commissary style.”
“Cigarettes, stamps, and ramen noodles, huh?” he asked with a grin, remembering all the things I had listed on his command.
“And good soap. I remember now that you aren’t inside of me,” I replied with a grin of my own.
It was crazy how content I felt just watching him do regular shit like putting his boxers back on, my ogling interrupted only when he asked, “He’s out now though, ain’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s been out for almost five years. Spent three of them on probation and now he’s just… making it, I guess,” I answered with a shrug, the details making me want to put my own clothes back on; feeling especially exposed now that I had really opened that can of worms.
But regardless of how I felt, that didn’t stop Chance from continuing his streak of questions, this time stopping to ask, “Y’all don’t talk?”
Once again, I shrugged, grabbing my t-shirt and pulling it back on as I answered, “Occasionally. But he’s never really been the same. Prison just… it changes people, you know.”
I would never forget the day his mother and I picked him up from prison with only a bag of the things he had come in with and a box of the letters and pictures we had sent over the years. I remember so desperately wanting to see the light in his eyes, a response to his freedom. But he remained… stoic, as if being on the outside didn’t mean anything, as if being back with us didn’t mean anything.
It took me awhile to realize it wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to be out, he was just so mentally scarred by the things he had seen on the inside, forced into stoicism to avoid going completely insane. And while I always wanted to ask him about it, or at least get him some help so that he could appropriately deal with what was essentially PTSD, doing that while also trying to finish college and land my dream job just didn’t work out.
I had to choose one or the other.
And I chose myself.
“Thankfully I can only imagine,” Chance finally replied, knocking me from my thoughts of the past.
I was grateful for the distraction of watching him step into his sweats, the sight allowing me to tease, “Wel
l you better keep it that way cause your thighs are thick and strong, and your ass is nice and tight.”
He continued getting dressed until he caught on to what I was implying, his face scrunching in disgust as he stopped to say, “You’re sick in the head.”
“Just stating an observation. It’s really a compliment. At least, coming from me it is,” I defended with a laugh, a little disappointed when I saw him making moves towards the hoodie I was hoping he forgot about.
“Whatever. Let me get outta here before you kick me out anyway,” he said, getting ready to put it back on until I caught him in the act with a serious question.
“Why are you taking my hoodie with you?”
“Cause it ain’t yours,” he replied with a teasing smirk, almost as if he was rubbing it in that I couldn’t really have it.
Still, that didn’t stop me from insisting, “Okay, our hoodie.”
Instead of indulging me, he only laughed, yanking it over his head as he said, “Man, you’re crazy. What you got goin’ tomorrow night?”
Since he was back fully dressed, I decided to do the same, grabbing my panties as I answered, “Supposed to be going to the Zalayah concert.”
“With your little loverboy bestie, huh?”
The jealousy in his tone tickled me to no end, tempting me to answer yes just to see him really get bent out of shape. But since he had done me the favor of a solid orgasm, I decided to play nice when I told him, “No, with my mother. Zalayah gave her free tickets and backstage passes after that whole viral video thing. Why do you ask though?”
He was watching me get dressed the same way I had watched him, his hands in his pockets as he licked his lips and replied, “Just trying to figure this whole thing out.”
“As in…”
“As in, how can I maximize the rest of my time in town by spending as much of it as possible listening to your sweet little moans when I’m fuckin’ you.”
The brazenness of his words had me ready to take all that shit back off, really maximize every second of being in each other’s presence since apparently that was his mission. But instead of acting as thirsty as I felt, I released an astonished, “Wow. You don’t even pretend to censor anything, do you?”
“Because you love that shit,” he replied with a smirk so arrogant I wanted to deny his words.
But I couldn’t, especially since I was back hot between the thighs off his plans alone, forcing me to admit, “I really, really do. But uh… just hit me up. Matter of fact, I’ll hit you up. I should be around after the concert.”
“Aight. Don’t forget about me.”
I was already walking him to the door as I reminded him, “I should be telling you that. I mean, you’re the one who waited all of…”
“Too damn long to use your number. I’m sorry. You forgive me?”
It was in that moment I decided Chance was either a fuckboy or too good to be true. I mean, his apology was way too damn smooth, the look he paired with it was way too easy to forgive. And when he rubbed a gentle thumb against the inside of my wrist while waiting for me to answer, I could tell this wasn’t his first time in someone’s doghouse.
But it worked like a charm, his apology craft perfected just as much as his dick game, even when I replied, “I prefer my apologies with tongue, but I suppose this will do.”
“How about we do both?” he asked, stepping closer and licking his lips as if he was giving a preview of what he’d do to me if I agreed.
With that right in my face, I felt like I had no choice but to respond, “Well in that case, why are we still standing here talking?”
Chance
“We should’ve gotten tickets to that damn concert tonight. That Zalayah girl. Man. The things I’d do...”
I couldn’t help but laugh at my homeboy M.J. as he sipped from his beer, shaking his head while he lived out whatever daydream he was having about the pop princess turned R&B vixen. He and Eric had come over to help me out with the project of my mother’s fixer-upper. And while her participation had been few and far between, I was just glad things were at least moving in the right direction; not to mention we finally had the equipment necessary to actually make it happen.
Eric and I pulled up the last of the carpet from the dining room, revealing beautiful hardwood floors that should’ve never been covered in the first place. And as we started to roll it up so we could throw it out with the rest we had pulled earlier that afternoon, Eric finally replied, “Nigga, chill out. She’s a baby.”
“A baby? She ain’t no damn baby. She’s like… Londyn’s age,” M.J. said, the mere mention of her name making my dick jump as I thought about the night before - that went well into this morning.
Londyn might’ve been a little younger than me. But what she lacked in age, she made up for in experience, doing things to my body that gave me chills just thinking about it until Eric replied, “Exactly. A baby.”
I knew that was far from the truth, but jumping to her defense would’ve probably made things too suspicious. So instead, I let M.J. handle it, though he certainly held nothing back when he said, “Wake up, E. Londyn is a grown woman now. And I hate to break it to you, but somebody is knockin’ those boots off whether you like it or not.”
That “somebody” being me - and only me as far as I knew - made me cringe, especially since Londyn and I hadn’t exactly discussed what we were doing outside of being, well, fuck buddies. And how do you tell your best friend something like that?
You don’t.
In true big brother fashion, Eric groaned, “Better not be. I’d whoop that nigga’s ass.”
Since I knew that was just him being the same overprotective person he’d always been, I wasn’t fazed by his threats. But I was fazed by M.J. suggesting, “It’s probably that little light-skinned dude with the dreads who looks like a good dancer. All that time they spend together and you don’t think he’s gotten a sniff?”
From the outside looking in, I understood exactly why M.J. felt that way since I had felt it too. And while Londyn still hadn’t made the history between her and her “best friend” clear, I was surprised to hear Eric say, “I actually like Khalid. He’s cool peoples, looks out for little sis. All these other dudes though? Brass knuckles.”
“Brass knuckles? You don’t own no brass knuckles. You don’t even own plastic knuckles!” M.J. shouted with a laugh, one I couldn’t join in on since I was still too focused on Eric actually thinking Khalid was good for his sister.
I mean, if he likes him, he definitely shouldn’t have a problem with me then...
“Whatever, man. All I know is, my little sister deserves the best. And if I gotta knock a nigga out to weed out the weak links, it is what it is,” Eric replied, reaching into the fridge to discover, “Damn. We’re out of beer. I’ll make a store run real quick. Y’all need anything?”
“Yeah, some real brass knuckles cause yours ain’t gonna do us any good,” M.J. said with another laugh, Eric rolling his eyes as he continued, “Nah, I’m fuckin’ with you. Grab me a Snickers though. I’m not me when I’m hungry, and all this free labor got ya boy starvin’.”
“Man, shut up. You’re always hungry,” I quickly chimed in, especially since we had just devoured a few boxes of pizza not even an hour ago.
But that didn’t stop M.J. from rubbing his stomach as he replied, “I didn’t choose the hunger life. The hunger life chose me.”
“This dude,” Eric groaned, shaking his head before telling us he’d be back. And since he was the main one helping me out, I figured it was a good time for me to take a break, tossing my gloves to the side so that I could check my phone.
It only took a few scrolls for me to see I had a message from Londyn; a message that turned out to be a picture of her in… damn, that’s what she’s wearing to the concert?
The little red dress she had on fit in all the right places, her nipple piercings made obvious since she clearly didn’t have on a bra underneath. But not having a bra on didn’t mean her tittie
s weren’t sitting up perfectly, my mouth damn near watering at the sight of her cleavage until I heard M.J. say from behind me, “No fuckin’ way…”
I couldn’t have closed out of the message fast enough, quick to ask, “Man, why you all in my phone?”
“Better question, why is she in your phone?” he challenged with a grin as if he already knew the answer.
I did my best to play it off, shrugging when I insisted, “It was just a picture.”
Of course, M.J. wasn’t letting me off that easy, following up with, “But why is she sending you pictures? She ain’t sending me pictures. She ain’t sending Eric pictures. Shit wasn’t a damn group chat. That was a personal picture to thee Chance Lamar Washington aka Little Chuck aka let me see that picture again cause oohwee gotdamn she is fine as hell!”
Instead of responding, I only shook my head, mad that he was still over my shoulder since I wanted to take a second look. But I knew I wouldn’t be opening it any time soon once M.J. put two and two together to say, “No wonder your ass was so quiet a minute ago. You’re the one knockin’ those off!”
“Yo, chill out with all that,” I whispered as if it wasn’t just the two of us around.
“You didn’t say it was a lie though,” he quickly replied, his discovery making him pace the floor as he continued, “Man, you’ve only been in town for... not even two weeks. How the hell you swing that already?”
“I didn’t swing anything. It was just a picture,” I told him as plainly as possible, hoping my nonchalance would make him back off.
But it only seemed to rile him up even more when he stopped his pacing to reply, “And I’m just Michael Jordan. Nigga, quit lyin’.”
Since he obviously wasn’t letting up, I decided to throw his hungry ass a crumb, admitting to whatever he thought he knew with a simple, “Aight. But you better not say anything to Eric.”
It was only a matter of time before I’d have to tell Eric something was up between Londyn and I, even if that didn’t include any specific details. But I knew we could only sneak around for so long before he’d find out, and I’d much rather him hear it from me or Londyn than someone else.
The Games We Play Page 7
