Page 53 of Full Court Press

“You’re doing all of this stuff for me, but I feel like I haven’t done much for you.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“Shhh. I know you don’t, but I want you to relax. Let me take care of you.” She slid off the table, then gestured for me to take her place. I smirked and did as I was told, feeling her soft, dainty palms rubbing massage oil on my back. Chris Brown’s “Take You Down” queued while every muscle in my body began to relax except my dick.

After five minutes of my growing erection making me uncomfortable, I turned over.

“That shit was uncomfortable, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I smiled. “It ain’t the massage that was the problem.” Her eyes followed mine as she smirked.

“Let me take care of that for you then.” She tugged at the towel, and it fell open. When I saw her head lowering, I stopped her.

“I can’t eat with you standing up. Come sit right here,” I told her, pointing to my face. She obliged, climbing up onto the table and lowering that fat peach over my face. I didn’t wait or hesitate before I dove in, sucking her pussy like it was my last meal. The moan that escaped her prompted her to grab my dick and deep throat me. My eyes closed as I became completely obsessed with the way her mouth worked me over and the taste of her sweet pussy in my mouth.

“Khaliiil,” she groaned as her hips rocked against my face. That only made me devour her.

It didn’t take long for both of us to climax before I scooped her up from the table and took her to the bedroom, where I proceeded to fuck her nice and slow. I didn’t care that I was being reckless again and not using protection. The way Piper made me feel, I knew I was already too far gone in our relationship to care about slipping up. Piper was mine.

And I refused to let her go.

After going two rounds, I sat up against the headboard with Piper’s head in my lap. We were feeding each other the strawberries and sipping champagne while listening to nineties R&B.

“Has being a journalist always been what you wanted to be?” I asked, rubbing her stomach softly. Her lips turned up into a cute smirk.

“I actually wanted to be an author.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What kind?”

She giggled lightly. “Don’t laugh.”

“I would never laugh at you, baby.”

“I wanted to write street literature.”

My eyebrows rose. “What your shy ass know about street lit?”

“I know a lot. I read a lot of street literature books in my teens. Books I knew my young ass shouldn’t have been reading. But I had a friend named Angela who turned me on to The Coldest Winter Ever by Sistah Souljah. From there, it was Terri Woods, Noire, and Zane.”

“Wait, ya moms let you read Zane’s freaky ass?”

She laughed. “Trust me, my mother knew nothing about me reading those books. She would have banned me from the library if she had known I was reading that type of stuff.”

“No wonder why you’re a freak.”

“Shut up! I am not!”

We both laughed.

“Nah, but I read that Sistah Souljah book and Zane, too.”

“Really? What did you think about The Coldest Winter Ever?” I saw her eyes sparkle and could tell she liked this kind of shit.