She exhaled hard as my tongue slid against her clit slowly at first, tastin’ her. She bucked her hips, reachin’ for my head, but I pinned her thighs open wit’ my forearms, controllin’ every damn movement. Her moans started soft, then got rougher, archin’ off the bed. “Keon… oh my God…”
I sucked her gently, then harder, lettin’ my tongue drag slow circles ‘til her legs started shakin’. She reached out like she needed somethin’ to hold on to. Lookin’ up at her, her long lashes fluttered, and her breathin’ sped up.
“Mmm. Pussy so good, baby.” Fuckin’ loved eatin’ my woman’s pussy. I could feast all day. I sucked her clit again, deeper this time, and she yelped before clappin’ a hand over her mouth. I immediately pulled her hand down. “You know better,” I said. “Let me hear all that.”
Her back arched. “The baby…”
“He’s good,” I whispered. “Let that shit go.” Her nut hit her hard, squirtin’ , shakin’, and cryin’. I patted that pussy through the waterfall and got right back to feastin’.
“Babe… wait… waaait…” she whispered, tremblin’.
“I want another one,” I growled, lickin’ her through the aftershocks, draggin’ another wave outta her on purpose.
Her hands clutched the sheets like she was holdin’ on to her sanity. I slid two fingers inside her slowly, feelin’ how sensitive she was, how wet she was, how much she still needed it. She squealed. “Knuuuck!”
“Give me one more,” I said. “Right now.”
My tongue circled her clit, fingers curlin’ in the right spot, and she squirted again so hard she grabbed my shoulder and cried out. “Fuuuucckkk!!!”
Her whole body shook as her thighs clamped ‘round my head, toes curlin’. I didn’t move ‘til she collapsed back onto the mattress. When I finally pulled away and stood up, pussy juices all over my mouth, Nyomi’s towel was all the way off. She blinked up at me, chest risin’ fast as I licked my lips. Movin’ up, I kissed her lips and gripped my dick. Shit was bricked up.
“Now, go do what the fuck you gotta do before you end up wit’ this dick in your stomach.”
She laughed, still tryna catch her breath. “Crazy ass. You think you the shit sooo bad.”
I smirked. “And you love a nigga for it.”
Twenty minutes later, the cleanin’ crew arrived in black uniforms, gloves, tools, and industrial cleanin’ supplies like they were shootin’ a commercial. One of them stuttered, “Uh, um… Mr. Jones, where would you like us to begin?”
“The whole house,” I said. “Be careful of the plants and don’t move none of the eyelash shit either. Oh, and stay outta the basement. Everything else is free game.”
“Yes, sir.”
They got to work and moved quickly. I liked that. While they cleaned and polished everything in sight, I sat at the kitchen island wit’ Kassim in the bouncy next to me, finishin’ paperwork on my iPad. Nyomi was in her beauty room. I could hear her singin’ along to some song and that shit made a nigga happy.
When everything was finally done, the house was spotless and smelled good. I walked upstairs, showered, then threw on a black button-down, black jeans wit’ a pair of black Timbs. By the time I was done, Nyomi was fully dressed in brown leather leggings, an oversized cream sweater, gold hoops, fresh curls, and lip gloss that did somethin’ to me.
She held Kassim in her arms, and he was dressed in a long-sleeve knit onesie wit’ footies and a matchin’ hat. “You look good,” she said softly.
“So do you,” I said. “You don’t look so stressed no more.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For… earlier. For… handling everything.”
I nodded once. “That’s what a nigga here for, baby. I fuckin’ love you.”
“I love you too.”
We stood there for a second, both of us breathin’ easier. Kassim makin’ baby noises between us. I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders. “Aight. Let’s get this shit started.”
K a s s i mw a sk n o c k e dout in my arms, peaceful as ever. We were headed to lunch to meet my mom and stepdad, and I was already preparing myself. My mother had that lowkey bougie energy, and Carl was cool, but he’d let her talk herself into a full monologue before he stepped in. They both loved Knuck, which made it trickier when we didn’t agree on something like the wedding.
I was the type who wanted a full wedding experience. Not over-the-top or fairy tale, but classy and memorable. I wanted the flowers, the music, the dress, the moment. It wasn’t just about the photos or social media. I wanted the memory. I wanted something we could look back on and say, ‘We really did that.’ But Knuck was hard-pressed to get married by the end of next month. That was like six weeks away. He wasn’t feeling abig wedding, and he said all that extra shit didn’t matter. That it was about the love, not the show.
“Do you want the love or the social media spectacle, Nyomi?” he had the nerve to ask me after the last conversation with my mom. Shit, I wanted both.