Tell me to go...

~Bonnie

I just found myself in a room getting undressed by a black man. Jay’s hands moved with quiet confidence, sliding the straps of my dress down my shoulders, letting the fabric pool at my feet.

He didn’t rush. His fingers traced my collarbone, then lower, unhooking my bra with one smooth flick.

My panties followed, tugged down slowly until I stepped out of them, completely bare under the dim lamp light.

He guided me back onto the bed, knees bent, legs parted. His dark eyes never left mine as two fingers slipped inside me, slow at first, curling, exploring.

Then a third joined, stretching me open, pumping deeper, faster. His thumb circled my clit in tight, relentless strokes.

I jerked against his hand, hips lifting, breath hitching in sharp gasps. The pressure built fast, too fast and I came hard, thighs clamping around his wrist, body shaking as I released in wet, pulsing waves that soaked his fingers.

He didn’t stop. He lowered his head, mouth replacing his hand. His tongue was wild, hungry, lapping flat and broad, then flicking fast over my clit, sucking hard enough to pull a cry from my throat.

He ate me like he was starving, lips sealed around me, tongue plunging inside, then back to circling, sucking, licking until I was writhing, hands fisted in the sheets, coming again on his mouth, jerking and bucking as another orgasm ripped through me.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were glossy, chin wet. He rose, gripped my waist beads like handles, tight, possessive and flipped me onto my stomach.

He pulled my hips up, spread me wider, and entered me in one long, deep thrust. No warning. No pause. Just thick, hard, filling me completely.

He fucked me from behind, fast, relentlessly, each stroke slamming deep, his hands locked on the beads, using them to pull me back onto him harder.

My ass slapped against his hips, the sound mixing with my moans and his low grunts. He reached around, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts until I shattered a third time, clenching around him, crying out into the pillow.

He didn’t stop until he followed, burying himself deep, groaning as he came inside me, hips stuttering, grip bruising on my waist beads.

We collapsed together, breathing ragged, bodies slick.

I stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, wondering how I’d ended up here. And what the hell I was going to do tomorrow.

It had been three days since I last stepped foot on campus. I told Mum I was crashing at Bianca’s place for a study retreat, some bullshit about cramming for exams and needing quiet.

I even begged Bianca to back me up if Mum called. She did, no questions, just a quiet “Be careful, Bon” before hanging up.

I didn’t stay with any guy. I checked into a mid range hotel downtown, the kind with thick curtains and a rooftop pool nobody used during the day.

I ordered room service, steak, wine, chocolate cake, drank too much alone on the balcony, stared at the city lights until my eyes burned, then swam slow laps at night when the pool was empty.

My body still ached from him, but the water helped. The alcohol helped more. I didn’t answer texts from Marcellus. I didn’t even open them. I just let the messages pile up like unpaid bills.

On the fourth day, around noon, I came home.

Mum’s shift at the clinic ran till six. The house would be empty. I needed a real shower, my own bed, Mum’s good Vaseline to smooth my skin before she got back and started asking why I looked like I hadn’t slept in days.

The front door was unlocked, strange, but not alarming. Mum sometimes forgot. I stepped inside, kicked off my sandals, dropped my bag, and headed straight for the bathroom. Hot water. Soap that smelled like home.

I stayed under the spray until my fingers pruned, then stepped out naked, towel forgotten on the rack.

The house was quiet. No one here. I could walk around like this, free, careless, the way I used to when I was younger.

I padded down the hallway to Mum’s room, pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it softly behind me.

That’s when I saw him.

Marcellus.

Coming out of Mum’s en suite bathroom, a white towel knotted low around his hips, water still dripping from his chest, tracing dark paths over the lines of his tattoo, down the ridges of his stomach.

His hair was wet, pushed back, beard damp. He froze mid step when he saw me standing there, naked, skin still glistening from the shower, hand halfway to Mum’s dresser where the Vaseline jar sat.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then his eyes dropped, slow, taking in every inch of me. Not shocked. Not embarrassed. Hungry.

“Bonnie,” he said, voice low, rough from whatever he’d been doing before I walked in.

I crossed my arms over my breasts, too late, too pointless. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mother gave me a key,” he said simply. “She’s at work. I came to drop off some things… and wait for her.”

Wait for her. The words twisted in my gut.

I took a step back toward the door. “I didn’t know. I’ll go…”

“Don’t.” One word. Quiet. Commanding.

My hand hovered on the doorknob.

He took one step forward. Water dripped from his hair onto the carpet.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said. “Three days. No calls. No texts. You are even skipping classes.”

“I needed space.”

“You needed to run.”

I swallowed. “I needed to think.”

“And what did you decide?”

I looked at him, really looked. The towel clung to his hips. His skin was still warm from the shower. The same body that had pinned me to his desk, that had made me come apart until I couldn’t breathe.

“I decided I’m done,” I lied.

“You can leave,” he said softly. “Right now. Walk out. Pretend this moment never happened. I won’t stop you.”

My hand tightened on the knob.

But I didn’t turn it.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then lower. Then back up.

“Or,” he murmured, “you can stay.”

Water from his hair dripped onto my shoulder. I shivered.

He reached out, slow, brushed his thumb across my lower lip.

“Tell me to go,” he whispered.

I didn’t.

Instead, I let go of the knob.

The door stayed closed.