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“Ohhhhh, shit! Vann! Vann!” My cries were tortured and desperate until he cut them off with his mouth, kissing me as he eased inside me with a muffle grunt.
“He fuck you like this?” he asked as he stroked me into near delirium.
“Like this?” I panted. “No. Not like this.”
“You have any idea how much I missed this pussy, BK? How much I’ve thought about it? If I wasn’t so fucked up, I’d make you mine. I’d make sure no one else ever got to taste you, feel you.”
I was crying now, overwhelmed and overstimulated and confused and just...scared. Scared of him and the feelings he was evoking. Scared of what him being fucked up meant because I wanted him. But I didn’t want anyone who was fucked up. I’d already cornered the market on being fucked up. What good could we possibly be together?
“Vann...” I whined.
“You giving this away to dudes who don’t know what to do with it and that’s a damn shame,” he said, continuing to deliver earth-shattering thrust after earth-shattering thrust.
“You don’t live here,” I breathed, actually fucking defending myself for some unknown reason.
“I know,” he grunted. “Shit! I know...” he sounded regretful.
Then we were silent, me meeting his thrusts as he kissed me, sucked on my neck, licked and sucked my breasts, and fingered my clit until we both exploded.
VANN
I woke up with her in my arms, her leg thrown over mine under the covers. It was late, and I’d already woken her up twice through the night for more because I just couldn’t seem to get enough of her. I’d had women, affairs in more than one country. Beautiful women, but none as beautiful as her. Not one of them was as coated in rich chocolate or had her curvy but fit frame. Not one of them looked as regal with braids trailing down their backs or as she was tonight, with her straightened hair in a ponytail. There wasn’t a match on the earth for her wide eyes or thick lips. Brooklyn was...shit, I didn’t even know how to put it into words other than magic. Brooklyn was magic.
She stirred a little, adjusting against my body and it occurred to me how little I knew about her other than what my sister had shared during our conversations. I knew she grew up poor, was attending Romey U on a partial band scholarship and a shitload of loans and was smart but not into overachieving like Sharla and Nadia. So I softly asked, “You ain’t told my sister about us?” although I knew she hadn’t. If she had, Sharla’s bossy ass would’ve had a fit on me by then.
“No,” she softly answered.
“Why not?”
“Ain’t nothing to tell. Me and you randomly fucked. That ain’t news.”
Damn. “Oh,” I said.
“Why haven’t you told her?”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“If you had, she would’ve gone off on me by now. She thinks you’re too good for just about anyone. She really looks up to you.”
“Nah, she don’t think I’m too good for shit.”
“Whatever. Why haven’tyoutold her?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Pivoting the conversation, I asked, “What’s your full name?”
Her head popped up, and I could see her eyes shining in the dim room. “Brooklyn Skye White.”
“Brooklyn Skye, that’s beautiful. BK is out. I’m calling you BS from now on.”
She swatted my arm and I laughed.
“What’s yours?” she asked.
“Vann King London,” I said.
“So, Vann is your real name? Not a nickname or short for something?”
“It’s my real name. Something my mom came up with. When’s your birthday?”
