Page 48

“Sasha. Not in my mama’s house.”

He doesn’t say anything. His hands land on my hips.

“I’m serious. My mama is downstairs. Pastor Moore’s wife is downstairs.”

He turns me around and backs me up against my dresser. My trophies rattle. He’s so big in this little room. His head’s almost touching the ceiling fan. He looks down at me, and his eyes are dark, and his face is calm, and I know that face.

“You ran,” he says.

“I didn’t run! I came to see my mama!”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“‘Cause I knew you’d say no!”

“Then you ran.”

He picks me up and sits me on the edge of the dresser. My debate trophy falls over. He pushes my church dress up my thighs.

“Sasha. Sasha, I’m serious, they’ll hear…”

He puts his hand over my mouth.

Big. Warm. Covering my whole mouth and half my face. I can smell him on it. Cedar and soap and my mama’s oxtails. My eyes go wide over the top of his hand.

“Then be quiet,” he says.

He pulls my panties to the side with his other hand and pushes two fingers into me.

I’m wet. Of course I’m wet. I’ve been wet since he knocked on that door. His fingers slide in so easy, and I cry out into his palm, and he presses harder. I can hear them downstairs. Auntie Gwen laughing. Jaylen yelling. Somebody turning on the TV. The game.

He fucks me with his fingers, slow, watching my face over his hand. Curling them. Pressing up on that spot. My thighs are shaking around his hips. My heels are digging into the back of his legs. I’m moaning into his hand and he’s not letting up, and I’m getting wetter and wetter. I can hear it. That wet, sloppy sound in my quiet little room with my grandma’s quilt on the bed.

He takes his fingers out of me. I hear his zipper.

I shake my head under his hand. No, no, not here, not here…

His cock drags through me. Hot and thick and hard, through all that wet. Over my clit. Back down. I sob into his palm.

“I told you,” he says, low against my ear. “Next time you ran.”

Then he pushes in.

Slow. He goes slow on purpose. The fat head of him stretching me open, inch by inch by inch, and I feel every bit of it. The burn. The stretch. My pussy opening up for him around that thick cock while I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, and his hand’s crushing my mouth, and my eyes are watering, and he just keeps coming. Filling me up. Deeper. Deeper. Until he’s all the way in and I’m so full I can feel him pressing up under my belly button.

He holds there. His eyes on mine.

“Look at you,” he says. “Taking me in your mama’s house.”

I clench on him so hard he hisses.

He starts to move.

He fucks me on that dresser slow and deep and rough, one hand over my mouth and the other on my ass, pulling me on him every time he pushes in. The dresser’s knocking against the wall. My trophies are falling over. One by one. Clunk. Clunk. My Toni Morrison picture’s looking right at me. Downstairs, somebody yells touchdown, and the whole house cheers, and he slams into me right on the cheer, and I scream into his hand and nobody hears.

My nipples are rubbing against his shirt through my dress. My thighs are burning. Every deep slow push, I feel him drag over every inch of me, and it’s building low in my belly, heavy and hot.

“I’m gonna come in you,” he says against my ear. “And you’re gonna sit back down at that table full of me. And when you go home tonight, you’re gonna be carrying my baby.”