Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “A nigga like to bless his meal.”

  Smooth ass.

  He looked up at her over his furrowed brow, eyes never leaving hers as he tasted her. His first sample, a long, flat tongue to her clit, pressed firmly and then circles.

  “Ahmeek!” she screamed. His tongue on her body melted her. He wrapped his hands around her ass and pulled her off the edge of the hot tub, surrounding his head with her thighs as he held the tiny fabric out of the way.

  “Mmm.” He moaned like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. She exploded instantly. His lips around her clit, pulling, flicking, as three fingers worked her middle, made stars glow behind her pinched eyes. Slurp. One long pull of her clit, finessing it out of the hood with just his tongue alone. Morgan’s eyes popped open in ecstasy.

  All Morgan saw were the waves on the top of his head as it bobbed between her legs. She was seasick. She palmed his head with one hand as she placed the other behind her body for balance, and then she rolled her hips in his face, adding pressure, riding his tongue like she rode a dope beat. Morgan on the fucking off beat … Mo Money on the tongue. Slip and slide, down to ride on it for the one time.

  “Feed it to me, Mo,” he whispered, pausing to kiss her inner thigh. Morgan had that pussy on a spoon for that nigga, and he was overindulging. He pressed a thumb to her clit and rotated clockwise. Morgan bucked as her legs opened wider.

  “Mmm,” he groaned. Lick. “You got it.”

  Morgan felt her entire body prickle, and she tensed.

  The phrase. It was too similar. “Yo, shorty, you got it.”

  Common enough, but as soon as she heard it fall off Meek’s lips, she thought of Messiah.

  “No, Meek, no,” she whispered. She scrambled to her feet, dripping water and seduction all at the same time.

  Meek exited the hot tub.

  “Mo…”

  “No, this is a mistake,” she whispered, wrapping the towel around her body. “What am I doing? God.” Her face contorted, her lips trembled, and shame filled her.

  “Mo, whoa, talk to me,” he said. “I thought we were on the same page. I didn’t mean to offend, love.” He pinched his lips, the taste of her lingering there, simmering on his tongue like a concoction that needed time for the flavor to settle in. She was steeping on his tongue, and he licked his lips just to get another taste because it was the best he’d ever had.

  Morgan felt like she was falling apart. Her eyes burned so badly, and her vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t look at him, so she snatched her arm away and grabbed her clothes before rushing, damn near running, away. She was terrified of what she was feeling. It wasn’t right. How could she feel this? For Meek. Morgan rushed into the hotel, putting as much distance as she could between herself and temptation because she wasn’t sure what giving in would mean.

  17

  Morgan’s tears fell down her face as she stumbled into the hotel suite. She needed to lay eyes on Bash. She needed to try to trick her heart … convince it that he was the one, that he could produce the same feeling … that he was capable of making it skip beats … of making her soak. Morgan didn’t even think about what she would say about being soaking wet and in a bikini. She rushed through the large room, seeking him, needing him to make her feel. She opened the door to the bedroom and stopped when she saw that he was asleep. Her feet were at the threshold of the room. All she had to do was step across it and climb in the bed with her fiancé. She could do this. She could find her place in his world. She had done a good job of faking these past two years. She had gotten quite skilled at pretending to be happy, but Christiana chose everything in her life. From what she majored in to what she wore. Morgan had lost her identity, and as she stood there, she realized she might not have ever known who she was to begin with. She had been reacting to life for a long time instead of creating the life she wanted. The last time she remembered living, truly living, and knowing who she was …

  The night at the club … two years ago. The day I found out I was pregnant.

  Things had fallen apart after that day. Everything that she had thought was real had been exposed as fake, and confusion settled into her life … it had taken permanent residence in her soul. With Meek, she didn’t feel unsure. Afraid, yes. Ashamed, maybe. Uncertain, no. She knew exactly who she could be with him, and he saw her for who she was, not who she was pretending to be. He saw through her, and the cracked mirror that no one else could see still held value to him. Morgan turned and walked out of the suite. Her heart was racing, and she was crying because she knew it was a possibility that she was about to ruin her life. She was about to risk it all on a man that she had never even considered until now. A man that she should have never considered … even now. Nerves filled her as she headed to the elevator. She got inside and pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. She had fifteen stories to change her mind. She wished that she would. She prayed for someone or something to stop this from happening because once she did this one thing, there was no taking it back. She knew all the reasons why she shouldn’t, but when the doors opened, she stepped off anyway.

  Room 2514.

  She spun in circles, trying to figure out which way to go, and then hurried feet carried her to Meek’s door. She lifted her hand to knock, and before the anxiety eating away at her stomach stopped her, she connected her knuckles with the wood. Meek pulled open the door, dressed in a Versace robe and nothing else, holding his phone in his hand. He stopped speaking midsentence, caught up in her rapture. He froze, stunned.

  “Yo, bro, I’ma get with you in the a.m.” He hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

  “I need it, Meek,” she whispered. Lust and desperation clung to every word. She stepped closer to him, shivering because now the towel covering the wet swimsuit was soaked and the air-conditioning was on blast. Or at least that’s what she told herself. The chills were from the cold, not from Meek … but she knew better. He made her quiver. He hadn’t even touched her yet, and her toes were already curling.

  “Nah, Mo.”

  His rejection shocked her. She wore her surprise on her pretty face and recoiled, jerking her neck back. “I’m that easy to dismiss,” she scoffed. “That easy to move on from. Fuck Mo … forget her like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. She saw Messiah in her mind, cursing her out and deserting her on Bleu’s lawn all over again. Feelings on the floor. Self-esteem beneath his heels. Self-worth dug into the dirt. Meek’s rejection was the moral thing to do, but damn, Morgan just wanted to be bad. She shook her head as droplets of emotion threatened to spill from her eyes. She turned, and Meek grabbed her fingertips, pulling her into the room. He closed and locked the door and then trapped her against it.

  “I’m not curving you, Morgan. You’re just not ready,” Meek said. He looked down at her. She looked up at him. Then his hands cupped her face, swiping away at her tears. “Let’s press Pause. Wait. If it’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen. If it ain’t, it won’t.” He said it like he wasn’t stressing over pussy, like he had it on speed dial, like he could order the shit up. Pussy, extra wet with a side of head. She knew he could. She knew he had options, and suddenly the idea of that burned her.

  “I need it, Meek,” she repeated. “I can’t wait.”

  She placed both hands on his chest, then slid one south until she found his gangster. He was solid in her palm, wide and long. The motherfucking trifecta. Her breath caught in her throat, and he stood there, staring, waiting, letting her probe his manhood with one hand, then two. She could feel him pulsing. His desire for her was palpable, but still there was hesitation in those eyes. They were as dark as midnight and held some remorse.

  “Mo,” he whispered. “Stop, love. We both know this is wrong.”

  “But what if it’s not?” she asked.

  Ahmeek blew out air. He was frustrated. She could see his conflict. She could feel hers.

  “The shit I want to do to you,”
he admitted. There was pain behind that statement. Shame. Morgan didn’t care.

  “Show me,” she gasped, her hands moving up and down his length as he grew in her grasp.

  He gripped her shoulders, leaning forward, placing his forehead against hers, eyes closed, restraint wavering. She brought her hands back to an appropriate place, to his face.

  “Never knew Murder Meek to hesitate.” She could barely whisper the words. Her emotions were all over the place, choking her. A storm destroyed her insides, uprooting every single principle she thought she stood for. What was right and wrong anyway? “Shoot first, ask questions later, remember?”

  “Mo, I ain’t the nigga to hit something and give the shit back. You hear me?” he asked. “If it’s what I think it is, I’ma be possessive over that shit, and I’ma want it when I want it. That nigga can’t touch you if I’m touching you, because I’ma kill him. I get real ig’nant over mine.”

  “Ahmeek,” she whispered, almost whining. “It took everything in me to come to your room … all that I had. Every piece of courage I could find. Can we work out the details later?”

  He reached around her and helped himself to a helping of her ass, a handful, then two, then her feet left the ground as he scooped her. She climbed him, wrapping her hands behind his neck as he kissed her. Morgan’s heart bled out. It oozed emotion, her angst spilling across the floor, leaving invisible remnants of her need in a trail at his feet. She was filled with unbelievable need as he carried her across the room. He placed her on her feet, then turned her around.

  She turned to him, but he spun her around, placing a delicate kiss to the back of her neck before bending her over the bed. “Hold your ankles, love,” he said, planting teeth in one ass cheek. Morgan’s arch was like the heel on a six-inch red bottom. That weight gain looked like a platter to a nigga like Meek. He placed his hands on her behind and gripped her flesh, rotating before planting a light smack. The blow didn’t injure. It was instigating, like he wanted to see how all that ass would react to his touch. “Yooo,” he groaned in appreciation as it moved for him. He took a knee, like Morgan deserved a little respect, like an injustice had been committed, like this was NFL Sunday and he was suited up on the field, then he peeled that bikini bottom off her body.

  Morgan’s knees planted into the bed and she reached for her ankles, head cocked to the side, pretty yellow ass tooted high, as her chest pressed into the bed.

  “Sssssss, boy, stop. Oh my fucking God.” She was open, on full display, and he arrested her clit from behind. A face full of real nigga explored her depths, finessing her swollen sex with expertise. She wouldn’t last long in this position. She wouldn’t last long at all, in fact. She was already creaming. Morgan was in trouble. She knew it. Head like this would drive her crazy. Meek was submerged in her, hands on the sides of her ass, opening her wider so he could go deeper.

  “Meek?” she whimpered.

  “Yeah, love?” he whispered. A peck to her most sensitive place, then three fingers, not two, never two because two wouldn’t prep her for what he was about to deliver.

  “This is bad … this is so bad,” she whined.

  “Nah, love. This is good … all good, Ms. Atkins,” he whispered. He sucked on her again. “Mmm,” he groaned. “So fucking good, Mo.” He started at her seed and licked backward all the way until he reached the end and then ate her there too. Morgan came back on her thighs and stretched her arms forward. “Feed a nigga, Mo,” he groaned.

  “I’m dying,” she moaned. “My God, Meek, stop. It feels sooooo…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he was inside her. “Ahmeek!” No condom, and she didn’t even care because she didn’t want a barrier between them. For two years, an entire ocean had been between them; now he was swimming in one, in her waters, no life jacket.

  Morgan hadn’t been touched in so long. Two years of emptiness to being filled in an instant had her climbing the walls. Meek pulled her wrists, reining her in so she couldn’t run as he tagged her from the back. It was a mixture between love making and fucking … not rough, not gentle, but appreciative, like he had sexed her before in his dreams and it was finally coming true.

  “Ohhh, fuck,” he groaned. Two hands to her hips for guidance, and then he pulled.

  Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

  Skin to skin, he beat it, and the music their bodies made echoed off the walls accompanied by the soundtrack of Mo’s falsetto as she screamed his name. He had knocked down two orgasms like they were bowling pins. He was trying to pick up the spare as he pulled the rest out of her all in one round.

  She gripped the sheets, clasping them, her fingers curling in delirium from the stroke he was gifting her with. A tender ache filled her every time he went deep, never too deep, never with the intention to assault, but to bring pleasure. He was walking a tightrope between pleasure and pain, using all his ability to keep the balance that kept her soaked for him, that made her open wider for him. Morgan wasn’t running. She was taking all of him, every single inch, as he thugged on her … beasting on her … the kiss to the middle of her back left tingles in the place of acknowledgment. She wondered why he’d chosen that spot … what was he appreciating about the crease down the center of her back. His next stroke snatched the thought from her mind, and Morgan threw her body back onto him.

  “Damn, love.” He gritted his teeth, and then she felt him lose restraint as he entered her with aggression, splitting her in half with one volatile stroke before pulling out and releasing onto the bed.

  Morgan rolled onto her back, moving wet hair out of her face and staring at the ceiling in disbelief. He was fucking phenomenal. Her womanhood throbbed. It had taken a licking, and she could feel it ticking in response from all it had endured. He came up her body and hovered over her.

  “You okay?”

  So thoughtful. Kind. No voids in his ability to show emotion, but far from soft … only behaving this way because it was her. His dream girl.

  She nodded.

  “You sure?”

  The consideration. The double-checking to make sure that she spoke truth and nothing less. It melted her heart. She nodded again as a tear ran out of the crease of her eye. He used his thumb to clear it.

  “What now?” she asked, the frog in her throat capturing her voice. It was barely audible. She was afraid. He could see it. He could feel it. Her hesitation.

  “We take it one step at a time, love,” he said. He lowered, kissing her lips. The way his skin stuck to hers and then peeled away slowly as he pulled back made Morgan’s eyes close. She relished there because the feeling was glorious. It wasn’t the act of being coveted. It was being coveted by someone who didn’t like to, who didn’t know how to, who only did it because his heart wouldn’t allow him to do anything else. Meek didn’t love women. He fucked many, but loved none … until now … now he loved one and it wasn’t new. Morgan didn’t know how she had ever missed it before. She had been in love with another, and Meek had watched from afar. Now that he had her beneath him, connected through her essence, to his life source, she felt every single inch of his affection.

  My God, every inch.

  Morgan gasped as he reached down, gripping his strength before guiding it back into her depths. “I’ma take it real slow,” he whispered.

  A night of passion, full of pleasure, and Morgan endured it all as Meek helped himself to her body over every inch of his suite. Even when she thought he was done, when they thought the moment had passed, he hit Rewind and pressed Play all over again. Morgan was exhausted. After hours of this marathon, her inner thighs were so weak she could barely walk. She lay under him, the white sheets covering their bodies, as he reached for the room service they had ordered.

  “Give me some,” she said, opening her mouth as she leaned into his plate.

  He placed his fork in her mouth. “My plate is your plate too. That’s the type of girl you are, huh?” He chuckled as she nodded, closing her eyes to savor the buttermilk pancakes.
>
  “That’s the exact type of girl I am,” she answered, smiling. She stood from the bed, and her bare body arrested his attention. Morgan was thick. A man’s dream. Two babies had done her well. She had more ass than she preferred, and her hips had spread something vicious. Meek’s favorite part was the one roll right where her bra rested. It only appeared at certain angles, and it had driven him crazy all night as he’d hit her from the back.