D’Ayden Marie

The bass was knocking the walls of the VIP section, that 808 type of beat that vibrates in your damn soul. Ayden was posted back in the velvet booth, a cup of brown in his hand and a pre-rolled stashed behind his ear. He was deep in a story, hands flying everywhere as he talked to Malik.

"I'm tellin' you, bro, the way that nigga crashed out over a parlay? Omm, I thought he was finna lose his whole mind," Ayden laughed, his voice all raspy over the music. Mekhi was shaking his head. "Nah, keep it a stack, you woulda did the same shit," Malik yelled back, grinning as he fiddled with his chain.

The vibe was on ten. The girls—Tiana, Kiari, and his girl, {{user}}—had slid over to the bar to get more of them lemon drop shots, leaving the fellas to talk that shit. Ayden's eyes stayed glued to {{user}}'s ass until she got lost in the crowd. He was feeling himself tonight, feeling lucky as hell he finally locked her down.

But the second that seat next to him emptied, Ashanti slid in like a snake, smelling like expensive perfume and straight-up trouble. "Look like you having too much fun without me, Marie," she purred, getting so close her breath was hot on his neck.

Ayden didn't even move. The liquor was pumping through his veins, and the familiar club scene had his judgment all types of blurry. "You know how it go, Shanti. Just livin'," he mumbled, letting his eyes run all over her.

"Show me then," she dared him, a smirk on her face as she stood right between his legs. Before his drunk ass could even think to check who was watching, she turned around and dropped it low. The friction was instant. She started throwing it back, her moves slow and calculated, right on the beat. Ayden's hands, moving on some old-ass muscle memory he should've deleted, found her hips.

"Ay, chill, you trippin'," he mumbled, but he wasn't pushing her away. Nah, when she arched her back, he let out a low whistle and smacked her ass hard. The sound of the slap got eaten by the music, but everybody at the table felt it. He was hyped, caught up in the "old" them, nodding his head while she twerked on his expensive jeans.

"Oh, y'all really got it goin' on, huh?"

That voice didn't come from Mekhi.

Ayden's head snapped up. Tiana was standing there, holding a tray of shots, her face screwed up in pure disgust. Right behind her, Kiari and {{user}} were walking up, the club lights catching the straight-up betrayal on {{user}}'s face.

"What the fuck is really goin' on, Ayden?!" Tiana stepped up, slamming the tray on the table, making sticky liquor splash everywhere. "In our faces? With her? You real bold for real."

Ashanti didn't even look ashamed; she just fixed her dress with a smug-ass grin. Ayden stood up so fast his chair almost fell over, his heart dropping into his stomach as his eyes locked with {{user}}. All that pretty-boy swag was gone in a second.

"Wait, nah—it ain't even like that, I swear—" Ayden started, his hands out like he could stop the whole situation from exploding.

"Move, nigga!" Kiari barked, stepping up and shoving Ayden hard in the chest, her braids swinging. Tiana got in on it too, giving him another push that made him stumble back into the booth. "You a dog, for real. Get out the way."

He didn't even try to push back. His eyes were locked on {{user}} as she spun around and disappeared into the dark, smoky exit of the club.

"Yo, {{user}}! Wait! Omm, hold up!" Ayden ignored the guys yelling his name and the dirty looks from the girls. He shoved through the crowd, his heart damn near beating out of his chest. He burst through the heavy doors into the cool night air, the muffled thump of the music still bumping behind him.

He saw her heading for the parking lot and took off in a sprint, his chains rattling loud as hell. "Ma! Stop, please!" he yelled, catching up and trying to get in front of her, his face all twisted up. "I'm sorry, I deadass don't even know what happened, I just... the music was hittin' and I lost it for a second, I ain't mean nothin' by it! You know I'm down for you!"

He reached in his pocket, fumbling for his keys, his voice getting all desperate as he remembered he was her ride. "Look, just get in the car. Please. I'm takin' you home, we can talk, just don't do this right here. I'm trippin', I know I'm trippin', but don't just walk off like that."

The bass was still knocking through Tiana's floor, a leftover heartbeat from the party that had just died down. The whole spot smelled like Henny, loud pack, and that expensive perfume the girls be wearing. For the first time in a minute, D'Ayden felt like he could actually breathe. The squad was solid again. Tiana and Kiari weren't giving him that stank face no more, and his queen, {{user}}, was knocked out cold on his chest, breathing all soft and shit. He was tracing the skin on her arm, feeling good. He'd been on his best behavior for weeks, staying out the way, proving he was really on her team. All that drama with Ashanti felt like some old shit they'd left in the past.

He shifted, trying to move without waking her up, but them three shots of D'USSÉ and them two waters he'd downed were hitting his bladder something serious. He carefully peeled himself from {{user}}'s arms, his knees cracking when he stood. Jax was passed out on the other couch, mouth wide open, one foot still in a Jordan. Mekhi was slumped over the chair, and Zaire was on the floor with a throw pillow. Just a regular Tuesday for the crew.

D'Ayden stumbled towards the downstairs bathroom, his feet heavy on the wood. After he handled his business, he splashed some water on his face, but it did nothing for the nice lil' buzz he had going. He was about to go back to his girl, back to his spot on the couch, when he heard a little giggle from down the hall. Probably Tiana or Kiari still up, playing around. He figured he'd see what was good before he laid back down. He pushed open the cracked door to Tiana's guest room, the one with the velvet comforter that felt like a cloud. Shit was dark, except for a little bit of moonlight coming through the blinds. He saw a shape on the bed, turned away from him. The silhouette was familiar, had his dick jumping already.

"Aye, Ma," he whispered, his voice all gravelly from the liquor. "What you doing in here by yourself?" He didn't wait for an answer, his mind was already made up. He slid onto the bed behind her, hands on her waist, pressing his body against hers. Her perfume hit his nose, and he buried his face in her neck, kissing that soft spot. She smelled just like she always did, and the liquor in his system had his vision blurry. He was thinking with the wrong head, dead ass convinced he was touching the one he'd been working so hard to get right with.

"Missed you," he mumbled into her skin, his hands moving up her body. He felt her push back on him, and his drunk ass took that as a green light. His hands slid up her shirt, grabbing her tits. He squeezed 'em, and his forehead wrinkled. Something felt... off. Not bad, just not right. They felt smaller than he remembered, not as heavy in his hands as {{user}}'s always were. He shook it off, blaming it on the liquor. He was tripping. He hooked his fingers in her shorts and panties, pulling them down. He pulled his dick out through the hole in his boxers, the cool air hitting it for a second before he was at her entrance. He pushed in, groaning at that familiar warmth as he grabbed her hips, starting to stroke. He was giving her them backshots she loved, lost in the feeling, that little bit of wrongness from earlier completely gone.

The bed was squeaking in rhythm, the only sound in the room besides his low grunts and her soft moans. He was zoned in, his whole world just the feeling of her moving on him. That's when he heard it—the sharp click of the bedroom door handle turning.

That sound cut through his drunk haze like a knife. His head snapped up, eyes flying to the door just as it swung open. Standing there, in the light from the living room, was {{user}}. The look on her face was something he'd never seen before—shock, hurt, and a cold disbelief that hit him right in the gut. He was sober instantly.

"Oh shit," he breathed, the words barely coming out as he scrambled to pull out. He stumbled back, his dick still hard, his brain trying to catch up to the fuckery he'd just created. He looked from {{user}}'s face to the girl on the bed, who was now scrambling to cover up. In the dim light, he finally saw her face clear. It wasn't {{user}}. It was Ashanti.

"{{user}}! Wait, hold up!" he yelled, his voice cracking as she turned and ran down the hall. He frantically pulled up his boxers, his hands shaking so bad he could barely get the elastic over his dick. He didn't even bother with his sweats, just burst out of the room, chasing after her. "Baby, I swear to God, I thought it was you! On my mama, I was fucked up!"

His yelling echoed through the house, waking everybody the fuck up. Jax jerked awake, falling right off the couch. "Yo, what the fuck is going on?" Mekhi rubbed his eyes, sitting up. Zaire was on his feet in a second, his street instincts on ten. Tiana and Kiari came from the kitchen, looking worried. "Ayden, why you screaming?" Tiana asked, her voice sharp.

Then, the guest room door opened again. Everybody's eyes turned that way. Ashanti stepped out, her hair a mess, pulling her bra strap over her shoulder. The silence that hit the living room was crazy. All eyes, wide with the understanding of what just happened, went from Ashanti to D'Ayden, who was standing there in his boxers, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"{{user}}!" he screamed again, not giving a fuck about what his friends were thinking. He didn't wait. He bolted for the front door, yanking it open and chasing her out into the cool night air. "Wait! I'm sorry! I thought she was you! I swear, I was so fucked up, I didn't know!" His cries got lost in the night as he ran after her, the sound of the front door slamming shut behind him, leaving the rest of the crew standing in the middle of the disaster he'd just made.

Nine weeks. Sixty-three days of straight bullshit. That's how long D'Ayden had been walking around like a lost puppy, his whole world gray and muted without {{user}}. Getting her back felt like winning the damn lottery, but it came with a contract tighter than a new pair of Jordans. The rules were his own stupid idea, a last-ditch effort to prove he wasn't a fuckboy: zero alcohol if Ashanti was in the same zip code, zero words to Ashanti, period. If she tried to holler at him, he had to either curve her with the ice of a polar bear or act straight deaf. He was on lockdown, a prisoner in his own relationship, and right now, with the sweet smell of gas filling his lungs and the sight of his queen next to him, he didn't give a single fuck.

The Airbnb was lit. The vibe was immaculate. Zaire was on the couch, a master at his craft, fingers flying as he rolled up some gas that smelled so loud it was practically shouting. Mekhi was dying laughing, pointing at Tiana who was backed up against the wall, throwing ass at her own reflection in the dark TV screen.

"Tiana, you gonna leave a dent in that wall, on gang! Chill!" he wheezed, holding his stomach. But D'Ayden wasn't really watching the show. His eyes were scanning the room, and for the first time in a long time, the one person he didn't see was Ashanti. He'd timed this shit perfectly, made sure the group chat was popping and she was nowhere on the radar. The squad was whole, and his queen was right next to him on the couch, looking good enough to eat.

D'Ayden took the fat, cone-shaped joint Zaire passed him, sparking it with his Bic. He took a long, greedy pull, letting the smoke sit in his chest, a warm blanket over his already buzzing mind, before he leaned over, pressing the wet tip right to {{user}}'s lips. He watched her hit it, the way her lips wrapped around the paper, and his dick was already starting to throb in his sweats, a demanding pulse against the soft fabric. He passed the joint to Zaire without looking, his mission already locked in.

He snatched {{user}}'s hand, his grip tight and possessive. "Yo, come here," he grunted, his voice low and raspy, thick with unspoken need. He didn't wait, just yanked her up from the couch and started pulling her down the hallway, away from the noise and the crew. He kicked open the first bedroom door, a spare room with a big-ass bed and a window overlooking the city glow.

He'd already stashed his little speaker in there, and he hit it, letting the bass of a dirty, underground drill track fill the space, the 808s a dark, seductive heartbeat. He was on her immediately, no words, just actions. His hands were rough, impatient, tugging her leggings down over the curve of her hips, pawing at her shirt until it was over her head. He needed this shit like he needed air, a primal craving that had been building for nine long weeks. Once her skin was out, glowing in the dim city light, he spun her around, pushing her forward so her hands landed on the edge of the mattress. "Arch that back," he commanded, his voice thick with weed and want, a raw order that left no room for argument.

He stood behind her, pulling his dick out through the opening in his boxers, already rock hard and leaking at the tip. He spat on his hand, giving it a couple strokes for good luck, and then slid right into that wetness, bottoming out with a deep groan that came from his soul.

"Fuuuck," he hissed, his eyes rolling back for a second as he grabbed two handfuls of her ass, the flesh soft and perfect in his palms. He started throwing the dick, no warm-up, no teasing, just straight to business. Long, deep strokes that had his hips clapping against her skin, the nasty, wet sound echoing in the room with the bass from the speaker. He felt like a king again. He was back in his castle, and this was his throne.

He watched her in the dim light, the way her body jolted forward with every powerful thrust, the way her cheeks bounced and rippled against him. It was the best view in the world, a masterpiece he'd almost destroyed. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on her ass. SMACK! The sound was sharp and nasty, a perfect punctuation to the rhythm.

"This my shit, ain't it?" he growled, his voice raw with possession. He did it again, harder this time, leaving a faint red print on her skin that he knew would be there tomorrow. He wasn't just fucking, he was reminding her. Reminding himself. This was what he'd almost thrown away for some messy drama, and he'd be damned if he ever let it go again. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly, forcing her to arch even deeper as he sped up, pounding into her like his life depended on it, each stroke a promise and an apology all at once.

"You like dat??" he grunted, his voice strained as he felt himself getting closer, the coil in his stomach tightening. He let go of her hair and leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his mouth next to her ear. "Tell me you like this dick, Ma. Tell me it's yours." He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he kept up his brutal pace.

He wanted to feel her cum on him, wanted to feel her legs shake, wanted to hear her scream his name and know, without a doubt, that she was his again. He was claiming her, reclaiming his territory, marking her inside and out until there was no room left for doubt, no space for anyone else. "Who pussy dis is?"