A/N: This update is X rated. M for Mature. Rated R. I don't know how else to say it. Don't read off you'll have to bleach your eyeballs and brain after.
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***
~
Kwamé and I have been getting closer over time. He hasn't really made any advances on me since the time we kissed, but the knowledge that he feels something for me is enough encouragement for me to make a complete and utter fool of myself. I keep making passes at him. The thing is, he hasn't completely shut me down. Sometimes when I touch his chest, for example, he stiffens. He's never pushed me away. Today we're watching Harry Potter reruns on the television, and my head is on his chest.
"I remember, as a child, watching this in my foster mum's house, this all seemed so... beautiful, magical, horrific, and impossible. I grew up to realise that magic isn't impossible. I grew up to realise that this beauty and darkness exists in the real world."
"I always think that this must have been a great shock for you."
"I'm getting used to it," I tell him as he starts to run his hand through my braids.
"I'm surprised that you haven't used magic yet."
"I've considered doing it," I tell him, remembering the time that I considered tying him. It's not something that I'm particularly proud of, but it happened.
"Really?" he asks, pausing the movie on the television and turning to me. His eyebrow is raised, and in the limited light, his eyes look dark silver. I can get lost in those eyes.
"Uh..."
"You don't have to explain," he says, taking my left hand in his right and brushing his thumb over the back of it.
"No," I say, feeling as if I owe him the truth. I don't know why, but I feel as if I need to own up to this. Knowing that there's a good chance that I'll regret this, I open my mouth to speak.
"I considered tying you," I tell him rushing to get the words out. Once I do, there's this great sense of catharsis, accompanied by concern for the relationship that I have with Kwamé. I look up, to see what I expect to me an expression of confusion, or worse, disgust on his face. Instead, I'm surprised to see amusement.
"You know that you can only do that with humans, right?"
"I thought about that after," I mumble, my face burning in embarrassment. "I'm awful," I tell him as I look at my hands in shame.
"No, you're not. I don't believe that you would have done it if you were human."
"We'll never know, will we?"
He looks at me as if he's torn. I can tell that he wants to tell me something, but something is stopping him.
"Just say it," I tell him, but he bites his lip and looks down. Just as I start to wonder what he's doing, he leans forward to place the remote on the coffee table and sighs.
"I was just thinking," he begins as he leans back, "maybe, if I tell you about my experiences, you won't feel so bad. I'm reluctant to do it, though, because I feel as if it will be another speech about how not good he is. However, I decide that he should have a chance to speak, too. Reluctantly, I nod my head.
"Shortly after I died, I came across the plantation that my mother was living on. She had not been broken up from the rest of my family, thank God, but... she went through hell." He pauses for a few seconds, as if trying to think of something to say, how to word it. "I had just learned how to phase, and I wanted to go to her, show her myself, but I didn't have it under control yet. Still, I went to the plantation as a bull in the night -- as that is when we are most comfortable -- with the intention of phasing and showing myself to her. The problem is, her slave master was there... and he was raping her."
I shiver as I hear the tone his voice takes on. It sounds low, dark, and almost demonic.
"Sorry," he says as he looks at me before clearing his throat. "Anyway, I lost it. One minute I was standing there watching, the next minute, I was burning him alive."
I gulp, because something tells me that I haven't heard the worst part of the story.
"The worst part," he begins, "is that when he moved, she saw me, and all I saw in her eyes was fear, pure, unadulterated terror, and in that moment, I couldn't phase. I was too angry. That is the last time I saw my mother, with fear, and no recognition in her eyes, because all she could see was a monster, a goddamn bull with fire on his eyes. She died shortly after that."
I don't know what to say to that, because it's incredibly heavy. I see tears well up in his eyes, and for probably the second time since I've know him, I see them brim over. The difference is that last time, he was a bull when this happened. I grab his hand and rub my thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe him.
"Can't you see ghosts?" I ask him, to which he nods slightly.
"I've never seen hers, though." He snuffles a bit before speaking. I'm telling you this because you were honest enough to tell me the truth. I felt like being honest about my past, too. My most painful memory."
I don't know what to say to that, so I don't. I just curl up and put my head against his chest as he pauses the television. I don't even know what I'm looking at, since my mind is on so many other things.
"You'll be fine, Nya. You're a good person. You just had a bad idea."
The calmness in his voice as he speaks about the fact that I almost obeah-ed him is amazing, but if he's not too worried, then maybe I shouldn't be, either.
~
***
~
"Nya."
It's Kwamé's voice, and it sounds as if something is bothering him. I'm exhausted, though, and it's not enough encouragement to get my lazy ass up.
"Nya, come on. This is serious."
"Go away," I mumble as I roll over, and fall right off of the couch, where I fell asleep in Kwamé's arms. At some point, he got up, because he's now standing over me as I look up at him through aching, sleep deprived eyes.
"What?"
"Lu'lu made contact with us."
At first, I wonder why I should care that someone wants to talk to us -- that is, until I remember who Lu'lu is, and what that means. This is what happens when you're exhausted, and your enemy has a cute, unsuspecting name.
"How?" I ask.
"She left a golden comb by the doorstep. Her comb."
"How do you know?"
"Because I do." He sighs, before disappearing from view, only to pop back up in a few seconds, before I even have time to sit up.
"Why don't you touch it for yourself?" he asks, holding out the comb in one hand. It's bright, and it gives off this vibrant energy, almost as if it's alive. Hesitantly, I reach out my hand to touch it, only for it to send an electrical shock up my arm. What's more interesting is that I see her when I touch it. For a fraction of a second, I can actually see her in front of me with a smirk on her beautiful face. I don't even have to ask what it means. Instead, I state it, like a declaration.
"She's coming," I deadpan. I should have more fear when speaking about her, but a part of me really doesn't care anymore. I'm tired of her, and I can't even die. I have Kwamé and Akatua on my side, and together, we're more powerful than she could ever be.
"You aren't worried," Kwamé states after looking at my face for a few seconds.
"Nether are you."
"I am, I just know that she's not coming for now. You don't seem to be very concerned, though."
"I'm not. I have you guys."
Kwamé exhales heavily before taking the comb from me and sitting on the couch.
"Why send us her golden comb, though?"
"To let us know that she's coming after us. It's not her only comb, though."
"How do you know?"
He scowls before answering. "Personal experience," he tells me, taking a seat on the couch as I look up at him from where I'm seated on the ground.
So far, I've figured out that Kwamé and Lu'lu have some sort of unpleasant history together, but I haven't been able to ask him, mostly because I know that it's something that he's ashamed of.
"I have to get ready for work," I tell him since it's a Saturday today.
"It's 4 a.m. and your work starts at 8. Go back to sleep." His grey eyes bore into mine, and it's as if he's seeing through my soul. I didn't even know what time it was before I said that, the only thing that I'm aware of is that I can't sleep.
"I can't," I grumble.
"You want me to put you back to sleep?"
"What do you mean?" I ask him, hearing the sudden suggestiveness in his voice. It's as if the conversation has gone 180° in the space of a few seconds.
"Wear you down," he replies with a smirk as he looks at me, now seated in the sofa. His body is as relaxed as it could possibly be as he looks at me with playful eyes. I don't know exactly what he's going to do, what to make of the double entendre in his words, before he gives me one simple command:
"Run."
I'm a bit dumb sometimes when I'm around him because of his beauty and perfection, so it takes me a few seconds to register what he said to me. It's enough time for him to roll his eyes and lean forward, which kick starts my brain, allowing me to not-so-stealthily rise to my feet, and take off like a tortoise. I know that he can more than catch me. Still, I run from him, until he gets bored of pretending yo chase me, and he sweeps me off my feet, and over his shoulder.
"Kwamé! Put me down!" I command him.
"Nope."
I groan and wiggle my body on an attempt to be set free. He completely ignores me.
"Kwamé!"
"Give up."
From my upside down position, I can see that we're crossing the threshold to my bedroom. I get nervous, knowing that any card can play now, but at the same time, I'm excited.
He throws me down onto the bed, and as my backside hits the sheets, I feel myself getting wet, soaking right through the damn underwear. The nightgown that I'm wearing is incredibly granny-like and unsexy, but I don't have much time to think about it because he tears it right off of my body.
🔞 BEGINNING OF R RATED SECTION. YOU CAN SKIP IT.
"I love the smell of you," he growls as his eyes begin to redden, and he tries his hardest to keep them under control. I pant underneath him as he strips out of his pyjamas, until he's left in just boxers. I can see his erection straining through them as it tries it's hardest to break free. A memory of what Akatua said about me having calves comes to mind, and I actually snort.
"What's so funny?" he growls as he presses his fingers right up against my pussy. I moan in response.
"Nothing," I whimper.
"Nothing?" he asks me, as if trying to make sure that I'm being honest. Out of nowhere, he pinches my nipple and twisting hard. I cry out.
"Don't fucking lie to me."
"Okay! I won't!"
"Good," he replies, releasing my nipple.
"I was thinking... oh, God... about when Akatua said that I'd have... calves," I tell him, moaning out the last word. I feel slightly embarrassed, but too turned on to allow it to distract me for long.
"You want me to knock you up?" he says, pushing his fingers under my panties and pulling on my clit. My back arches on its own accord as I rock my hips back and forth, trying to find some friction. "You want me to make you come around my cock, come so many times that you beg me to stop?" He's rubbing my clit now, in small circles, too slowly for it to be even remotely satisfying for me.
"Please, Kwamé," I beg him as the movement of my hims speeds up.
"Please what?"
"Faster."
"You're greedy," he comments with a smirk, seeming to mock me with his eyes.
"Kwamé, come on," I whimper, only to hear him sigh. It's a sound that tells me that I should probably have shut up, that he's probably going to give me more than I bargained for.
He tears off my underwear with one swift movement, pulling them apart before dropping the shredded fabric on the floor. My legs spread and my knees bend without him having to ask. Then, he spreads my puffy lips and pulls back the hood of my clit, exposing the swollen, sensitive organ to the world.
"Oh fuck," I whisper, before he gently runs the nail of his thumb against the tip of my clit. It's enough to drag a deep sob from the centre of my chest. My hips speed up as my body tries to fuck his hand, all while I scream and sob my throat out from the pleasure of being played with by him. I feel myself nearing my climax, and I know that it's going to be far better than any climax I've given myself. I cry out his name as I come, only for him to not stop, to shove two fingers into my cunt while he uses his thumb to play with my clit.
"I can't," I sob but my mouth and body are saying two different things. My hips speed up, and I grab his arm and hold it so that I can thrust with more accuracy.
"You aren't acting like you can't," he murmurs as he pulls yet another orgasm from my body, making me throw my head back and scream so loudly, Akatua can probably hear us from her house.
"One more," he bargains, slowing down enough to give me a chance to refuse, and speeding up again when I don't.
"Fuck me," I cry, because it's not enough. I want more. I need more.
"One day," he promises as he looks into my eyes. They're aflame now, and it only serves to make me wetter, knowing that I'm doing that to him, I'm turning him on by simply reacting.
"I'm going to come," I declare, and in response, he sinks three fingers into my pussy while pressing down on my clit with his thumb.
"Fucking come," he growls as the wave of pleasure hits into me. It shakes me, resonates in the marrow of every bone in my body. I don't think that I've ever cried this hard in my life, and I'm not even embarrassed about it.
*END OF R RATED SECTION. ✔️
~
***
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"What are we doing, Kwamé?" I ask him as I lie beside him in my bed, my head on his chest. He's playing with my hair as I come down from that magnificent, orgasmic high. Kwamé has a wicked set of fingers, and of we continue on this trajectory, there is no way that we won't end up having sex.
"I don't know." I hear a sadness in his voice, and it saddens me, too. It makes me feel as if I'm a regret, as if he wishes that the past hour never happened.
"I'm terrified of hurting you," he tells me. The ironic part is that the look in his eyes hurts far more than he could ever fathom. "I just want to give you what you deserve. I'm trying, Nya."
"You regret it," I whisper.
"No, I don't, Nya. I'm glad that this happened. It was an interesting experience. A good experience."
"You sure?" I ask him.
"Yes. It was amazing. You're amazing."
Before either of us could say something else, the knocking on the door catches our attention. If I'm not mistaken, Kwamé's body language shifts just before the person knocks on the door. I guess a heightened sense of hearing does that to you.
"You know who it is?"
"Yeah," he mutters. I don't even need him to say it, because the look of calmness and underlying joy on his face tells me. Still, he says her name.
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"Akatua."
ns 15.158.61.7da2
