control & craving

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ⏯️: ᴡɢꜰᴛ ʙʏ ɢᴜɴɴᴀ ꜰᴛ. ʙᴜʀɴᴀ ʙᴏʏ

ATLANTA, GEORGIA📍𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓷 𝓐𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼

The quiet of the apartment usually felt like a sanctuary after a long day of clinical rotations and anatomy labs, but tonight, the silence was grating. Devon sat on the edge of the leather sofa, the glow from his laptop screen casting long, sharp shadows across his face. His two-strand twists were slightly mussed from him running his hands through them, a nervous habit that surfaced whenever his body felt like it was vibrating on a frequency he couldn't control. It was that damn diurnal rhythm—a biological surge that hit him every now and then, making his skin feel too tight and his thoughts turn dark and heavy. He was supposed to be studying, but the words on the screen were just blurred lines.

He thought about you, as he always did when his mind started to wander. You were probably at that party right now, surrounded by loud music and the scent of expensive perfume and sweat. He remembered the way you looked before you left, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom. Those tight True Religion shorts were a crime, hugging every curve of your frame so tight it made his mouth go dry just watching you zip them up. You’d paired it with that red graphic tee, cropped just high enough to show off the soft skin of your waist, and those gold chains clinking against your collarbone. You looked like a dream—an Atlanta queen ready to take over the night.

He’d turned you down when you asked him to come along, muttering something about a big exam and needing his rest. But the truth was, he knew his mood was off. He wasn restless, irritable, and craving a kind of touch that he wasn't sure he could be gentle with in a public setting. He’d watched you walk out the door in your red Jordans, the sway of your hips a taunt he had to swallow in silence. Now, hours later, the regret was settling in his chest like lead, mixed with a rising heat that had nothing to do with the Georgia humidity.

It was 11:00 PM when he finally gave in and picked up his phone. He told himself he was just checking the time, or maybe seeing if you’d texted to say you were safe. But his thumb moved with a mind of its own, tapping on that colorful circle around your profile picture. The music hit first—some bass-heavy track that made the speakers of his phone rattle. And then he saw you. You were in the middle of a crowded floor, surrounded by your girls from Spelman, the red of your outfit popping under the strobe lights. You weren't just dancing; you were moving like water, your body fluid and rhythmic as you dropped low.

Devon felt the air leave his lungs. Seeing you twerk on your best friend, that confident smile on your face while you moved like that, sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to his gut. He watched the clip once, then twice, then a third time, his eyes locked on the way those True Religion shorts moved with you. You looked so good it hurt. The hormonal shift he’d been battling all evening suddenly hit its peak, a wave of possessiveness washing over him. He felt a familiar, heavy ache growing in his jeans, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He threw the phone onto the cushion beside him, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. He could’ve called you, told you to get your ass home, or he could’ve handled the pressure himself. But there was something about the wait that fueled the fire. He wanted to feel that tension coil tighter and tighter until it snapped. He wanted to be the only thing on your mind when you finally walked back into this space. He stayed there in the dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside, listening to the distant sounds of the city and the hum of the refrigerator.

He thought about your first year together, how you’d met through that mutual group at the park near campus. You were the sharp-tongued law student who didn't have time for a distracted med boy, and he was the one determined to prove you wrong. You’d challenged him, kept him on his toes, and eventually, you’d become his entire world. Moving in together during your second year felt like the only logical step. This apartment was filled with your memories—the late-night study sessions, the burnt dinners, the way you’d fall asleep on his chest while he read his textbooks aloud.

But tonight, he wasn't the sweet boyfriend who made sure you had your coffee in the morning. He was a man pushed to his limit by his own biology and the sight of his woman looking too good for the rest of the world to see. He felt a low growl vibrate in his throat as he imagined the smell of your perfume clinging to your skin when you returned. He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him with that post, or if you were just having fun, completely unaware that your man was losing his mind in the living room.

The minutes felt like hours. He tracked the time by the shifting shadows on the wall. 11:15. 11:30. Every car that passed by, every door that slammed in the hallway, made him tense up. He was hyper-aware of everything—the texture of the sofa, the weight of his own limbs, the persistent throb in his lower half. His mind was spinning a thousand scenarios of what he was going to do to you the second you crossed that threshold. He wasn't going to let you even take those Jordans off before he had his hands on you.

He thought about the contrast between you two—you, the future lawyer, all fire and logic; and him, the future doctor, all precision and hidden depths. You were shorter than him, a fact he loved because it meant you fit perfectly under his chin, your head resting right over his heart. But when you wore those shorts and that cropped tee, you didn't look small. You looked powerful. You looked like a goddess who belonged solely to him, and the thought of anyone else even catching a glimpse of you at that party made his jaw set in a hard line.

The jealousy was a dull roar in the back of his mind, but it was overshadowed by the sheer, unadulterated wanting. He started pacing the length of the small living room, his 6'3" frame making the space feel even smaller. He felt like a predator in a cage, waiting for the gate to open. He ran a hand over his twists again, his breathing coming out in shallow, heavy bursts. He was far past the point of being able to focus on anything academic. His body had taken over, and it was demanding his woman.

Finally, he heard it. The muffled sound of the elevator down the hall, followed by the rhythmic click of footsteps approaching your door. He froze in the center of the room, his eyes fixing on the handle. He didn't turn on the lights. He wanted the darkness to amplify the surprise. He heard the jingle of your keys, the slight fumble as you tried to find the right one—you were probably a little tipsy, a little tired, and completely unprepared for the energy waiting for you on the other side.

The lock turned with a sharp click, and the door swung open, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway. You stepped inside, the scent of the night air and your signature perfume hitting him instantly. You looked even better in person than you did on the screen, the red of your outfit slightly rumpled from a night of dancing, your skin glowing in the dim light. You began to kick off your red Jordans, humming a tune under your breath, totally oblivious to the shadow standing just a few feet away.

Devon didn't move at first. He just watched you, taking in the way your True Religion shorts sat on your hips, the way your gold jewelry caught the faint light. He felt the tension in his body reach a breaking point, the diurnal surge finally finding its target. You reached for the light switch, your hand halfway there when you finally noticed the tall, dark figure looming in the middle of the room. You let out a small, startled gasp, your heart jumping into your throat as your eyes adjusted to the gloom.

"You really thought you could post that and come home to a sleeping man?" Devon’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He took a slow step toward you, the light from the hall hitting his sharp jawline and the intense, hungry look in his dark eyes. "I been sitting here for an hour watching that video over and over, baby... and I think it's time you show me how you move like that in person. Come here."