Page 46 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“We wait.”

She frowned.

“Wait for what?”

“The right moment.”

A slow smile spread across my face.

“The second the timing makes sense.” I looked over at her. “I’m leaking every last one of the pictures Amani sent me.”

Marissa’s lips curled into a grin. “Bet.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to see that shit.”

I couldn’t either, because I knew it was about to be a fucking shit show.

After the little scene Kyrie and I had earlier, I damn near lost my mind, and I couldn’t wait to get my lick back. I didn’t know what kind of tongue that nigga had, but it ought to be illegal. Because the way he had me feeling needed to be studied.

By the time he was done with me, I was convinced he’d snatched my whole damn soul. Then, he had the nerve to make love to me afterward like he wasn’t already showing out.

I slipped under the covers, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. His breathing was deep and steady, the kind that told me he wasn’t coming up out of that shit anytime soon.

I eased my hand down and wrapped my fingers around him. Even though he was asleep, his body reacted to my touch.

I took my time enjoying the way he responded without ever opening his eyes. Every slow stroke made me smile, because I was about to get my lick back. I glanced back up at his face, and his jaw was relaxed, but his lips were slightly parted as his chest rose and fell in the same slow rhythm.

He was knocked the fuck out. A rush of excitement settled in my stomach. I shifted lower beneath the covers, careful not to move too fast. My heart pounded against my chest because I knew he was asleep, and I had never woken him up with my head.

I let my tongue slide along his thick, long member first, with slow and deliberate sucks, tasting him. He twitched in my hand, and I smiled against his skin before wrapping my lips around the tip. I took him deeper, letting my mouth get wet and sloppy the way I knew would drive his ass crazy if he was awake.

I worked him slowly at first, savoring the control I had in that moment. The weight of him on my tongue. The way his body responded even as his mind was elsewhere. I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, letting the sounds fill the quiet space between us, wet and obscene.

I felt him grow harder, and then I felt the unconscious shift in his hips, as if his body knew what was happening, even if he didn’t. I moaned around him, the vibration making him twitch again, and that’s when I felt the change in his breathing.

It wasn’t steady anymore; his hand was in my hair, not gentle and asking, but gripping the fuck out of it. Shit, the way this nigga was gripping my shit, I thought he was about to rip it right out of my fucking scalp. But that didn’t stop me; it gave me more ammunition to keep going.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough and thick with sleep.

Before I could even look up at him, he was moving. His hips rolled up, pushing himself deeper into my mouth, taking over the moment. He was now fucking my throat.

His grip tightened in my hair, holding me in place as he fucked my mouth with a rhythm that had me gripping his thighs to steady myself. I relaxed my throat around him and let him use me, meeting every thrust with the same energy he was giving. Sloppy and wet.

“Yo’ ass thought you was slick,” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous. “Waking me up like this.”

I moaned around him in response, and that seemed to set him off even more. His pace quickened, and his breathing turned ragged. I could feel him losing that control he always held so tight. I wanted to be the reason he came.

And when he did, I took every bit of it. But I wasn't done.

I pulled back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and looked up at him. His chest was still heaving, his eyes half-lidded but locked on me like he was trying to figure out what I was about to do next.

I didn't give him time to guess.

I moved up his body, straddling him before he could even catch his breath, and positioned myself right where I wanted to be. His hands found my hips immediately, gripping tight, but I wasn't letting him control this. Not yet.

“My turn,” I said, my voice low and steady, and I sank onto him in one slow, deliberate motion that had both of us groaning.

The stretch was perfect. The fullness was everything. And the way his jaw clenched told me he felt it too.

I started moving, setting my own slow rhythm at first, rolling my hips, taking my time with every stroke. His grip tightened on my waist as if he were trying to hold on, but I wasn't making it easy for him. I leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and rode him like I had something to prove.