Page 60 of Obsessive Love
“I knew it would be like this,” he groaned. “I fucking knew it.”
“Pyrite,” I moaned as I felt my orgasm approaching.
“I already fucking know, I feel it.” He slowed down just like I needed him to. “I ain’t ready for you to cum yet, though.” He shook his head. “Nah, I want to see my girl cum.”
He stopped fucking me, and we started moving. He walked us out of the pool and then sat on the first pool chair he saw. As soon as my back hit the chair, he started pumping into me again. Feeling him outside the water had me ready to run, but I wasn’t sure which way to go. The pleasure made me want to cling to him, but at the same time, it was overwhelming. Sex was not supposed to be like this. His hand went around my throat, and his mouth went to my ear.
“Dear Fable, our love story didn’t start like others, but that’s okay because it’s uniquely ours. We will fuss, fight, laugh, joke, cry, and grow together because we are destined. Your crazy, matches mine. And I feel sorry for the world if we are ever to separate because I will burn this bitch down until we are reunited,” he said into my ear. His voice washed over my skin, igniting another fire inside of me. I was okay with rough, unemotional sex, but him switching up his pace and tone had me gasping for air. “This isn’t anything but obsessive.”
“Pyrite,” I moaned, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. “Pyrite.”
“I’m obsessed with you, Fable, and it’s only going to get worse.”
I didn’t want it to, but his confession awakened something in me. He was obsessed. Shit, so was I.
This was bad, real fucking bad.
He leaned back, adjusted his body between my legs, let my throat go, and then grabbed my ankles. He spread me wide and fucked me. His eyes stayed focused on my pussy like he couldn’t take his eyes off our connection.
“Fable,” he said, and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m obsessed.”
He moved faster, the head of his dick knocked against my G-spot, and I orgasmed so hard that my back arched off the chair, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. The last thing I remember seeing was Pyrite smiling at me.
PYRITE
“You dothis every time you wash your hair?” I asked Fable as I sat on the sink. After we had sex and got our shit together, we ended up swimming for a little while, then got out. She mentioned that she needed to wash her hair, and even though I needed to shower, I wasn’t ready to be out of her presence, so I decided to sit in the bathroom and watch her.
“Yes,” she answered. She was bent over the tub, her head was damn near submerged, rinsing her hair. Lowkey, I kept trying to get a peek of her ass under the towel she was wrapped in, but the muthafucka wouldn’t move. “You don’t?”
“Do my own hair?” I clarified.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck nah, I go to Corinthians and have her do it,” I replied, shaking my head. “The most I can do is wash it.”
“Whose Corinthians?” she asked. Her voice was a little tight, as if she were jealous, which made me laugh. Fable tilted her head to look at me as she rinsed her hair. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” I answered, then wiped my hand over my mouth. “But to answer your first question, Corinthians is my stylist. She’s also my homeboy’s cousin.” I leaned back, resting my back against the wall. “I’ll introduce y’all soon. She’s good people.A little quiet, but shit, I would be too if I was raised around Krude's crazy ass.”
“I’ve heard that name before,” Fable said, then returned to the tub. “Amethyst mentioned someone named Krude.”
“He’s a Bible Thumper,” I said, nodding.
“Bible Thumper?”
“Have you ever heard of Dr. DeCorte?”
“The big-time preacher?” she asked, and I nodded. I wasn’t surprised that she knew of Pastor DeCorte. His reach was far and wide, niggas in the hood knew his name just like the old women in small churches. People respected him because he was honest about his life and kept it real in every sermon. His motto was that you didn’t have to like how he spoke, but you would understand his sermon.
“Yeah, Krude is one of his grandkids. It’s like seven of them in that generation, and now they’re having kids.”
“So Krude is a preacher’s grandkid?” She said, then nodded. “Got it.”
“Yep,” I chuckled.
She turned off the water, grabbed the shampoo, and poured it into her hair. She had more hair than I initially thought. Black women were magical; I don’t care what anyone else says. There was no other way to describe what I was watching. Fable lathered her hair, stretching the curls and moving them around to make sure she covered all her hair.
“Does sitting like that make you dizzy?” I asked as I continued to watch her.
