Page 1 of Know Your Place

UNO. Fucking UNO. That stupid ass game was why I was currently folded up like a pretzel, getting the best dick from the most toxic nigga I’d ever met. I’d known him all of four hours, but I knew his ass was toxic. Toxicity spilled out of his damn pores. Luckily for him, I loved a toxic nigga, which was exactly why I refused to get into a relationship.

I was smart enough to understand that I had a damn type, and the type of man I always went for was never fit for a relationship, so I steered clear. I knew better. My heart was worth protecting. I was a certified crashout, so people automatically thought I was hardened, but the people closest to me understood that I was highly emotional. That was why it was so easy for me to crash out. My emotions ruled me, which was why I currently looked up at this man with damn stars in my eyes. He would never know how good his dick was. Not from me anyway. He would never know my heart fluttered every time his dick stroked into me. My emotions were on high right now, and all the liquor I consumed for my birthday celebration definitely wasn’t helping.

Beretta. His damn name was Beretta, for fuck’s sake. His mama took one look at him and decided to name him after a damn gun. I made sure I got proof that Beretta was his government name, and after he showed me his driver’s license, I knew his ass was trouble.

“This birthday dick got you lost for words?” Beretta asked. I must have been too in my head as I looked at him, but damn, he was fine as fuck. His shoulder-length locs hung around his shoulders. His mocha skin glistened with sweat because he was definitely putting in work.

Before I could respond, he slammed his dick into my guts, and I moaned, . . . then I laughed. There was no way this man didn’t have a string of bitches following behind him.

“Fuck so funny?” Beretta asked as he slowed his strokes. He looked down at me in confusion, and when I laughed harder, he let my legs fall from their place up against my chest. I knew his fine ass wasn’t used to a woman laughing at him, especially not in the middle of his long-ass deep strokes.

I felt his hard dick still pulsing inside me, and my pussy clenched around him as I laughed. When he tried to pull out of me, I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him close.

“Chill,” I managed to say between my laughs. “I ain’t even laughing at you.”

“What the fuck so funny then?” he asked with his face mugged up. He looked like he wanted to choke me, and my crazy ass giggled at that.

“The fact that you know how to slang some dick,” I replied. It was the closest he would get to a compliment from me.

He cocked his head to the side. “You laughin’ ’cause I know how to fuck?”

I nodded. “Yup.”

And I didn’t plan on explaining further. His ability to make my pussy feel things I never felt before was funny because, of course, I would find this gem of a man, and he was touched in the damn head. I wondered if I would ever settle down and meet a nice man. I giggled again. Highly unlikely.

I pulled him down to me and kissed him sloppily. He matched my energy and put his hand around my neck. I smiled against his lips. I loved that shit.

“You gonna fuck me now?” I asked.

He squeezed my neck. “You gonna take this dick seriously?”

I wanted to laugh, but the pressure on my neck felt too good. When he stroked into me again, all I could do was nod. I was for sure going to take his dick seriously because he was about to give me the best orgasm of my life.

“Fuck, why yo’ pussy so good? Huh? You talk a lot of shit but got this goldmine between ya legs. You just tryna protect your treasure?”

My eyes widened as he kept up his rhythmic pace. How could he know that was exactly what I did? I talked a whole lot of shit and did my best to show niggas how I was the big dog and that I ran everything around me. That attitude always weeded out the weak. It most definitely protected my heart and my treasure because it ensured that only real niggas got between my legs. For some reason, God seemed to make all the realest niggas the most trash when it came to love, so keeping up my attitude inadvertently also protected my heart. Because with real niggas, I always knew what I would get.

The issue was that Beretta proved to be a little different. Real recognized real, and it was clear to me that not an ounce of ‘pussy-ass bitch’ lived within him. The problem was that he had a big-ass dick he knew how to use, and he spoke my language of crazy to a T. That excited me, and that scared me. I didn’t get excited about niggas. They came a dime a dozen.

I laughed at Beretta because something about his soul spoke to mine while he dug inside my guts, and that had never happened before. I laughed to cover up my fear.

“You gonna answer me?” Beretta asked. I was close to an explosive orgasm, so all I could do was nod. “Nah. I want you to speak. Tell daddy why you got that mouth on you?”

His grip around my neck loosened, and I knew if I didn’t respond, he would stop my orgasm. I wanted to cum bad, real bad, so I replied without confirming the truth. “Because I’m a real bitch and say what I want.”

Beretta chuckled before he slammed into me. I moaned as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. “You a real bitch, huh? Tell me somethin’. Is this real bitch gonna suck the cum out my dick when I pull out of this good-ass pussy?”

I nodded, knowing I looked eager. Thirsty. At that moment, I didn’t care. All I could feel was the intense pleasure building up from my core.

“I’m cumming,” I whispered through gasps of air.

“Cum on my dick, Icelynn, so you can lick it off,” he encouraged.

See? That right there. That was exactly why I was so enamored by him. He knew exactly how to talk to me, and we had just met. How the hell did that even work?

I had no time to contemplate it. Juices spilled from my pussy. Beretta looked down. I saw wonder in his gaze as he put his fingers on my clit and rubbed. My eyes snapped close as more juices squirted out of me.

“Look like fuckin’ crystals comin’ out your pussy. Ol’ good-ass, pretty-ass pussy,” he muttered.