Page 10 of Mahogany 1

Circling it, I groaned. “Mmhmm. Phat ass pussy.”

She pulled away from the kiss and locked eyes with me. Eyebrows wrinkled, pleasure evident on her face. “Duke.”

“Hmm?” I answered, lightly slipping my fingers between her folds, sliding them up and down her pussy.

“Wait—”

“I am waitin’,” I told her before dipping two of them inside.

She yelped and threw her arms around my neck. Softly, I curled my fingers and played with that spongy part of her pussy that always gave me what I was waiting for. She moaned and fucked back. Just when she was about to give me what I needed, I pulled my fingers away and wrapped my arms around her waist to turn her sideways. With a firm grip, I pulled her out of the water and sat her on side of the clawfoot tub. She was drenched—covered in suds. The floor too, but I didn’t give a fuck. That wouldn’t be the only thing on the floor once I was done with her. Before she could even attempt to protest, I dove in between her parted legs, headfirst, careful to keep a tight hold on her despite how slippery wet she was.

“Shit,” she mumbled, one hand gripping the side of the tub, the other on the back of my neck.

“Mmmh,” I moaned against her pussy, with her clit softly clamped between my wet lips. Lowering my hands from her back, I gripped her phat ass and pulled her closer to me. She slipped, laughed, and grabbed the tub with both hands for leverage, repositioning herself.

It’d been about a week since I last tasted her. A week since I was given the opportunity to. As sexually connected as we were, it didn’t come often because of that romantic imbalance. But when I was in it, I was in it. And there was no stopping me, for real. A nigga was hungry. My appetite for Mahogany was always aggressive. Back then, now, forever.

Lightly sucking on her clit drove her crazy. Before I knew it, my beard was coated with her cream. I slipped my tonguebetween her folds, dipping my tongue inside of her, scooping up what could easily be referred to as my favorite meal. Nah, that was too easy.Mahoganywas my favorite meal. Every inch of her. Skin, toes, tongue… every single part.

“Hold on,” I said against her pussy, before pulling her ass completely off the tub to push her legs back to slip my tongue from her pussy to her ass.

She yelped, finally giving me what I needed. I never had to wait long. I had the roadmap to Mahogany’s body. It was mine just as much as my own. I knew every little thing about it. Where her moles were. Where her scars were and how she’d gotten them. I knew where to touch and how much pressure to apply, too. Where not to touch. Where to lick. Where to suck. How long it’d take to get her to cum. And what to do to slow it down, too. I knew everything. Mahogany belonged to me. Of course I knew.

“Oh God. Duke… I’ma fall.”

“Even if you slip, I won’t let you,” I reassured her, before locking one of my arms around her waist. I didn’t know what type of position she was in, but what I did know was, she was right where I needed her to be. Back and forth, I moved my tongue up and down her slit to her ass, dipping it into her pussy each time I made it there.

The music was where it needed to be to drown out both the sound of her moaning and me slurping.Shit. Her taste was intoxicating. The perfect balance between creamy and wet. Delicately, I went back and forth between licking and sucking as she began to slowly come down from an orgasm I wasn’t ready for her to come down from yet. So, I kept at it. Feasted on her as if her pussy was my last meal. I didn’t rush. Savored it. Paid attention to every little detail of the way she tasted. Let it simmer on my tastebuds and went back for more. Grunting against her pussy sent the vibrations I needed for her to wet me up more than the bath water had.

“Ducati,” She moaned. “I’m going to fa?—”

“You won’t. I promise I got you, baby,” I mumbled against her pussy, unsure if she’d heard me or not. She was loud, I was low. In the moment. Appreciating her pussy as the delicacy that it was. She bucked against me. Squirmed. Quivered and shook. Moved enough to hit the floor or the water. But she didn’t. She might’ve been twisted like a pretzel, but I made sure she didn’t fall. On cue, she quenched my thirst the way only Mahogany ever had. Thick, creamy, wet goodness oozed from her pussy first, before I was hit with a wave of her juices squirting into my mouth.

“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled, swallowing every drip.

Today was a good ass day.

3

MAHOGANY

“…He’sbeen trying.We’vebeen trying, I guess. It’s been hard for me considering. But I need us to work. So, I was wondering if you had any recommendations for a marital counselor? I know you can’t work with me, and then us together so?—”

“Mahogany,” interrupted my therapist, Chanté. “What are you afraid of?”

I stopped twiddling with the charms on my Pandora’s bracelet and lifted my brows. “I’m sorry?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

I heard her. Loud and clear. Just... figured I’d buy myself a little time with the question. Hated that fucking question. I mean, I had an answer. Had several actually. But the question of if I’d be honest this time or not crossed my mind. I didn’t want to talk about fears. I wanted to keep talking about my marriage. Not about the scary parts but about the parts where I saw growth. A glimmer of hope. We had… there was potential. But I could tell by the pensive stare Chanté gave me that she did not want to talk about potential. Not again.

“Fears. What are you afraid of?”

She tapped her navy-blue ink pen against her chin and just... looked at me. I shifted around on the velvet love seat and ran my hand down the back of my neck. And she sat there, watching me do it all. I couldn’t stand her ass. Loved her, but I couldn’t stand her. You get that don’t you? Chanté was really good for me. Great for me, even. Had been my therapist for the past two years. She knew me. She knew intimate things about me. She knew my quirks. She knew my ticks. She knew my triggers. After five years of being my therapist, you’d think a question like that, I’d already answered, right? I did. Told her ass nothing every time she asked. The answer to that question… that annoying ass question? I told her I wasn’t afraid of anything. So, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why the fuck she kept asking me that shit. I was very, very, very close to firing her ass.

“You’ve asked me that three times this month already, Chanté,” I pointed out with an angry chuckle.

Chanté nodded. “Mmhmm.Thirdtime this month.” With a pause, she looked down at her notepad. “But how many times do you think I’ve asked since we’ve met?”

I shrugged my left shoulder. “A million.”

---