⚠️ Warning: ⚠️
This chapter includes sexual content. Reader discretion is highly advised.

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⌞M I N D E L Y N⌝
⇣

⌞♥⌝  Warning.

Even if they were heavily taxed, the very bare minimum Chess could've given me was a damn warning! Then maybe the sudden, intense pressure that ripped through my pelvis wouldn't have made me scream bloody murder.

Thankfully, I wouldn't say I was in pain. Surprised and unprepared would be more accurate. Even with those two traits, it was more discomfort than anything else for a second or two after.

However, as my body familiarized itself with his filling girth and splendid length, my soul slowly transported to my lustful haven, where I wallowed in ecstasy and was close to releasing my inner sex demon. Needless to say, Mr. Nel had the right key to my fiend's cage, but the real trick was how he turned it.

"Haibo! Are you okay, Minnie?"

With his eyes the size of Africa and skin paler than the walking dead, Chess was taken back. He finally blinked before rubbing the back of his head and admitting, "Um, with the way you talk, I didn't think you'd be this tight..."

Though his statement was borderline rude, there was genuine concern in his steady but fretful voice, which warmed my heart a little. Some guilt for reacting the way I did settled in the pit of my stomach, but I refused to let it consume me. I didn't think I needed to apologize for my body's natural reactions.

On a brighter note, I was happy he acknowledged his mistake and owned up for it. This welcomed sign highlighted a very progressive character development for him. I would've clapped, but I didn't want to make an uneasy situation even more painfully awkward.

As I was about to reassure him, this loud-mouthed man persisted with his excessive explanation, "Then again, I should've been more delicate with your small frame. Seriously, I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to scream — well, I did, but not like that. Are you always that loud, 'cause yoh?"

Ignoring him was the best thing I could do for myself at that moment, and the fact that he was finally inside me was the perfect distraction. The heat radiating from his sensational probe was an addictive pleasure I never wanted to be separated from. Being connected to him like this brought me a sense of security and tranquility.

God, I missed having sex. Chronic depression and anxiety were deadly cockblockers, and I was high on happiness spikes.

Or maybe I missed connecting with someone.

Somebody who would genuinely listen to me. Someone with whom I could engage in any conversation and openly share my desires, emotions, and frustrations. Somebody who, while holding my hand and reassuring me that everything was fine, would be my reassurance anchor in the chaotic ocean that we called my life.

In no way was I discrediting Blake and Layla. They were great and, if not the best. However, they were family to me, and only that. And you can't tell your family everything.

Doing that could become problematic, and the last thing I needed was a hellish remix of what perspired with my biological parents. It wasn't enough that they destroyed each other; they broke me too, and, for a good decade, that was all I was.

So, that part of me that always craved more grew exponentially as I tried to move on. It made me feel selfish, which, in turn, burdened me with extra guilt.

The image of several faceless naked men sprawled on the floor came back to mind. However, instead of my mother passed out on the floor. It was me.

I shook.

With his warm hands holding my waist, I could feel him slowly withdraw himself. Panicking that he would chicken out when I was at my peak of horniness and needed a diversion to crush my haunting thoughts, I jolted up. Balanced on one arm, I flung the other one behind me and grabbed his nearest wrist. With my fingers digging into his arm, I registered how erratic his pulse was.

No. Over my dead body is this ending!

I tightened my clasp on his wrist and threatened, "If you pull that dick out, I'm going to rip it off and feed it to the dogs. Maybe you're fine with sleeping blue-balled, but I refuse to not orgasm tonight! So, you either fuck me like a slut or leave me in a body bag! Pick your fate wisely."

My burst of anger released all the pent-up sexual and non-sexual frustrations I had in my system. It felt great, but my body tensed when I saw Chess staring at me with wide eyes through the mirror. A few seconds go by, and, as I was about to facepalm myself for coming off so desperate, he burst out laughing.

With him still pegged in me, I slowly sat up and demanded, "What's so funny?"

"Haha, you're so feisty. It's cute," he said, stifling a chuckle and regaining some color in his face again. Though it was a childish reaction, I crossed my arms and pouted while he secured me in a hug and cooed, "Aw. No. Don't get angry, babe. It's a good thing. You make me laugh... and extremely horny."

I uncrossed my arms, looked at him directly, gave him a small peck on the chin, and sultrily whispered, "Prove it."

"Oh, I will, my lady. Now get back in position," he commanded. We shared one long kiss for the last time in a while, and then I propped onto my arms. He spanked me without any warning, earning a high-pitched yelp out of me that made his smirk intensify, and then embarked on his journey of pleasuring the both of us.

With his hands hooked on my waistline, he took it slow at first, like a rocking sailboat on a calm sea. The sun was out and hot, like his soft skin on mine. Accompanied by the occasional times my pounding clit hit his glorious rough balls, I savored every moment, faintly moaning whenever he hit the right spots and jiggling my ass now and then just to encourage him more. The beauty of my hypersensitivity was that every touch counted for something, and when you got someone like this African beast of a man for the night who knew exactly what they were doing, it was a guaranteed one-way ticket to the heavens.

At some point, the vessel became a racing speedboat, and all I could hear was the unremitting clapping of his pelvis slamming my cheeks. He satisfied me so much that the river from my tunnel of wonders had become a full-blown waterfall, and the persistent clapping soon evolved into splashy slapping mixed with my guttural groans and explosive expletives. Though uncomfortable on the cold, hard countertop, this position maximized his depth of penetration, and that was my personal goal. Not that he needed it much. His schlong was a marvelous length and, with its equally delightful thickness, made the experience on the receiving end so much better.

Every part of me was shaking from both the fierce bodily movement and the intense stimulation. It had been slightly more than seven minutes. Normally, I could last longer than that, but with him hitting the right spots; his dirty talk with that sexy accent, and the occasional but rough clit rubbing, I felt an intense pressure building up in my pelvic region.

This wasn't a drill. This was real, and it was happening.

Grasping his wrists, I moaned, "Chess, I'm going to cum!"

"Perfect timing," he interrupted with a strong shot of huskiness as his arm slung under my torso to lift me.

He climbed onto the counter, placing his knees on the marbled surface, and made me sit on him with an arched back and my hands pressed on the mirror. His agility was spectacular, but the fact he did all that in a humid, slippery environment while still slowly dicking me was so damn hot and deserved a standing ovation.

Satisfied with his position, he held my waist firmly and resumed with such fervor that neither of us could suppress our moans. Watching his red face brought an unexpected joy. Though undeniably handsome, the sight of his slightly parted lips, intermittent lip biting — likely his attempt to stifle another moan — and glistening grey eyes made it appear like he were on the verge of tears.

Aww. Poor thing.

I refocused on my reflection. An amused smile had snuck its way to my lips. Instead of dropping it like a scorching hot bowl of soup, I kept it and indulged in our sentimental moment. I could feel him expanding inside of me; he was about to shoot his load.

With his expertise and relentless rhythm, my toes curled and my body trembled as I gasped, "O-oh. M-my. Go--"

"Ah!" His guttural groan was followed by a spurt of internal pressure in my pelvis. It was like a crazy person had stuck a high-pressure water gun in me and was unloading it to the last drop. Two powerful squirts and a more casual one later, a phenomenal warmth settled in as his mushroom tip thumped inside of me. Feeling all those sensations, my inner built-up pressure exploded, surged through my body, and made me momentarily limp as my soul ascended to heaven.

Hugging my chest, he pulled me into a secure embrace, dropped his head on mine, parted my legs, and melodically whispered into my ear, "Want to see something super satisfying?"'

Still drunk from orgasm, I melted into his body with a nod. He parted my legs and withdrew from me. A few drops of his creamy release spewed out of me on cue, leaving a delicate white trail to my anus and a small puddle on the counter. Others may find it gross, but to two people who worked their butts off having the best sex they could give and where both parties climaxed — this was our version of fireworks.

Look, before you judge me. Anyone who enjoys a good fuck knows that sex is messy. However, when you have the right person, it's also super-hot and just plain old fun.

"On a scale of pregnant to very pregnant, where do you think you fall?" he quipped, marveling at his work, before planting a wet kiss on my forehead.

Still feeling like a blob lost in a blurry haze of indulgence, some sense managed to find me as I muttered threateningly, "If my abortive tactics fail, you better be ready to pay child support and all their college tuition — and that includes their masters."

"Yes, honey," he drawled in a teasing manner.

I sent him my most distasteful glare. He groggily laughed at it, then found my lips and brushed them to let them in.

Chester Nel was such an asshole at times. However, after all the work he put in, he deserved some affection. So I gave in and made out with him for a solid minute.

Or two. Actually, it was more like -- who the hell knows.

Hookups or one-night stands typically end weirdly because the post-sex talk with a stranger — or someone you just used as a sex toy — is so awkward that you want them out of your house as soon as possible. However, to my surprise, Chess was a great conversationalist. So, we soon found ourselves casually chatting about the differences in schooling between our countries, including what we liked and disliked about the different education systems.

Still talking, we got down on the floor and got back on our feet. As we delved into a fun conversation about our high school shenanigans, Chester took care of the goopy mess left on the counter while I turned off the shower, thanking God I didn't need to pay the water bill.

Honestly, I wanted to take a quick wash, but something told me to wait until morning. And, oh boy, was I right to follow that instinct. That round was just the foundation for many more to come, and they were going to blow my mind.

With his clothes in hand, Chess excused himself to take a call and left the bathroom first. My initial thought was that he was on his way out. Maybe call it greed, but a part of me wanted to ask him to stay. However, the assumption he likely had some important early morning meetings tomorrow put me in my place. Furthermore, I was sexually satisfied (to a tolerable degree). So, why did I genuinely want to spend more time with him?

I mean, we do bump heads from time to time, but doesn't everyone? And who knows? Maybe we could be friends or something else that's casual.

However, with how everything went down so far that night, casual was no longer an available option, and I knew it.

"It would be best for me to let him go," I whispered, hugging myself. Like him, this trip was a dream, and -- sooner or later -- I'd need to wake up.

With that sour thought, I concluded that my session with him was up and that I should get some shuteye. I left the bathroom, dressed in one of the suite's complimentary white gowns. My deficiency in the height department left me drowning in the thing, but luckily, my full figure lifted it enough that it ended just above my ankles.

Entering my bedroom, I pulled out my hair tie and let my curls breathe. Seeing my delightful bed, I spread my body like a starfish and jumped onto it. Lying on my back, I waved my limbs up and down to make a bedcover angel. It was an odd tradition that Layla and I had always done to make a new place feel like home during our childhood runaways or girl trips.

'A happy inner child always leads to a healthier mind and space' is what we would chant whenever someone told us we were making a mess of the sheets.

As I enjoyed my childish moment and the softness of the bed, a deep, raspy voice boomed through my room, saying, "Why would you wear that thing if you're going to take it right off again?"

Freaked out by the sudden interruption of my lovely silence, instinct made me scramble to the headboard with my heart beating at the speed of light. When I finally saw his stupid naked ass sauntering toward me, my heart's rhythm started to steady itself.

"Aww, Minnie. Why are you so easily startled? It's just me, your unofficial tour guide and favorite fuckbuddy," Chester said with his infuriating smirk. In all his glorious nudity, he took a seat at the furthest corner of my bed, and sang, "Oh, yeah, by the way, I found some chocolate mousse cake for us."

"Cake, what are you talking about?" I followed the fork in his hand to the open, small black box he had sitting in his lap. It hit me like a supersonic brick as I shrieked, "What the hell, Chess! Johan got me that!"

Completely unfazed, he took another forkful of cake, began humming contentedly, and then commented, "Oh, you shouldn't have told me that. It only makes this chocolate devil taste even better."

I wanted to lunge at him and strangle him mercilessly while watching life leave his body, but I was better than that and refused to have another grave sin added to my overflowing naughty list. So, changing the topic for the sake of my sanity and the preservation of his life, I asked him as sweetly as my frustration would allow, "I'm sorry. So, why aren't you going home?"

Gulping another mouthful of the dessert, he licked his lips and casually stated, "If I can recall, I promised you a night of intimacy, yes?"

He had me there, but I was still going to try to get him out of my room, at least. "Yes, but I didn't mean the whole night. Have you heard of an exaggeration? Plus, the entire night sounds like a commitment, and I..."

He lifted a brow. "And you what?"

"I can never actually sleep with a guy in my room."

My whispery confession may have come off as confusing or weird for most of you, considering how much I sleep around and the way my male best friend was always in my room. However, I had a very valid reason. Unless you had the privilege to be my human pillow like Dr. Rhyson, napping next to a man brought up too much unresolved trauma that I had left behind in my past and didn't feel like tackling that night.

Knowing Mr. Nel's curiosity meter and how good he was at interrogations, I had forebodings that he would prod me until death did us part — which would probably end with me having a mental breakdown. Thankfully, God was on my side that evening because the headache and heartthrob of an Afrikaner appeared satisfied with my response, indicating it with a nod, then shifted the focus of our conversation away from me and toward himself.

"So anyway, I have nothing better to do with my time. So consider yourself very lucky, Minnie. Every girl in Africa would kill to be in your shoes right now," he crowed.

Me? With Him? Lucky?

I let out an eye roll that could be seen from space. It sounded like I was more cursed than anything else.

Stuffing his mouth with my cake, he bragged, "On top of that, I am a master entertainer, especially in the sex department, but you already — sort of — have an idea of that."

He finished his words with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, and I queried, "What do you mean, 'sort of'? Are you a wizardly contortionist secretly capable of making me magically cum while looking like a damn pretzel?"

That tickled a small laugh out of his mouth. Things quickly went south when he started coughing from almost choking on the gateau. However, he recovered faster than expected, cleared his throat, and then spoke up, "Contortions, no. However, I can make the wizard thing work for role-playing, especially if you want to use my magic wand."

He had the smuggest of grins on his face, but I was too distracted by the mole of chocolate icing on the corner of his mouth. So, I crawled over to him as he readied another forkful of the food. He paused when I cupped his face and pulled it towards mine. My intention was to wipe the gunk off, but the tender look in his eyes made my heart skip a beat and stirred up that fuzzy, warm sensation in my gut all over again.

He noticed my temporary paralysis but mistakenly attributed it to his seraphic facial features. "What is it? Love my face that much, sweetheart?"

"Jesus. Chess, shut up!" I instructed him, exasperated.

He blinked hard a few times, and from the scrunching of his face, I knew another of his migraine-inducing lectures was on the way. His mouth opened but, before even a breath could escape him, I pressed my lips on his, removing the brown smudge and sparing myself from another scolding.

I could taste the bitter richness of dark chocolate and traces of the smooth and sweet caramel mousse on his hot tongue. Though I got the watered-down version of the actual cake, it was delicious. He laid the box to the side and started kissing me back.

At some point, I pulled away from him to get some air and stated, "If you promise to shut up, you can go back to eating your cake now."

"Forget the cake. I want you," he growled before ambushing my neck with fervor.

Jealous of all the attention my neck was receiving, I brought his head back to my lonely lips. This was one of the only times I had him wrapped around my finger, so he obliged and kissed me back.

As we made out like a bunch of horny teenagers in a bloody apocalypse, he ripped open my gown and let his fingers trace between my breasts, past my stomach, and down to my inner thighs. Upon reaching their destination, he teased me with playful massages while skillfully sliding his fingers in and out of me.

He was very gentle about it, adding some pressure here and there. Just the slightest touch from him drove me crazy, and the more my body received them, the more I insatiably craved him.

While I took a few seconds to catch my breath during our racy mouth-to-mouth practice, I said, "I know you enjoy petting my kitty, but can you go in already?"

"La patience est la clé, ma tigresse. We will get there soon enough, but I just think you deserve a nice, relaxing massage after our first session this evening," he said before tenderly biting my lip and tugging at it. At the same time, he started rubbing my fleshy doorknob until it was throbbing and begging for him to come in.

I broke out in a string of consecutive moans, hitting a higher note with each increase in his stroking frequency. Sometimes, I felt like his violin, serenading him with my melodious moans; other times, he played me like a drum, beating me so hard I began to whimper for mercy. At some point, his beautiful fingers ventured deep into my fluffy bush, exploring the strawberry-pink cave of wet, pulsing glory. With each divine touch, I felt blessed with a few more strokes and thrusts until I transcended to the empyrean.

Everything after that happened so fast.

He had me pinned down, and we were deep in a furious, wet kiss while holding hands. Like the phenomenon humanity labeled as time, our sexual appetite and sensual activity evolved. One moment, he was kissing between my thighs. The next, his tongue parted my juicy lips like Moses with the red as he sucked my throbbing little nub of ultimate pleasure.

Alive. I felt alive for every second of it, pulling his head of hair a little as he did God's work while his hot head snuggled itself in between my thick thighs.

I missed his lips, so I begged him to come back up and peck me a little. After pleading for a certain amount of time because he just loved being in between my legs, he apologized, pushed his hair back, cautiously climbed over me, and continued our sexy little tongue battle.

As we played in each other's mouths like hungry beasts, I told him I was ready for him to enter. He laughed and said something about how he already knew I was from having to clean up my flooded basement. Without another second to spare, his delightfully warm and perfectly stiff wand entered my small portal to wonderland, and our sensual fantasy began.

Most men, especially on one-night stands, just pounded the hell out of you like you were some inanimate sex doll — but not him. His thrusting was sexily strategic and lasciviously hypnotic. Fucking him was like taking a whole course of challenging, fun, and risqué dance classes full of smoothly progressive rhythm, venturesome positioning, and paradisal pleasure.

Sometimes, it was a passionate slow dance that made the both of us moan, grind on each other, and make out like crazy. A few times, it was a spicy salsa with saucy love bites, mind-blowing sucking of my tits, and heavenly clit rubbing. Other times, he broke it down with mesmeric body rolls while riding me like a ruthless cowboy on those wild bull rides, making me whine like a leashed dog longing for its master's attention.

I had lost track of how many times we sexed each other and how many times we did the dirty. It didn't matter because we always ensured the other person reached their climax. It was our unwritten rule, and neither of us needed to express it even vocally because we were so in sync with each other. That night in the heat of the city of Jozi, our bodies were each other's playground, and we enjoyed exploring every part of them.

During our toilet breaks or while waiting for him to get over his refractory period, we talked about a whole bunch of random stuff. Our subjects ranged from our favorite homemade dishes and preferred birthday activities to our thoughts on the afterlife and how many kids we envisioned raising (separately). Of course, knowing how we butt heads, there was some bickering about who was the world's greatest sports player of all time and other frivolous stuff. However, in such heated situations, we agreed to disagree and then relieved the tension with incredible makeup sex.

As happy as I was, fatigue caught up to me fast. Chess and I were in the blankets, cuddling, patiently waiting for him to be ready for another round. The faint smell of salty sweat with the refreshing clean linen and his musky deodorant was comforting. The aroma pulled me from reality and led me down the meandering path to dreamland.

When he wasn't talking about how adorable I was and planting little soft pecks on my forehead, he was playing with my long curls and deep in conversation about his company. Falling in and out of consciousness, I managed to get some bits of it.

He was a future CEO and was looking for somewhere to settle. I inadvertently yawned into his face at one point. He was a good sport about it, chuckling at it before proceeding with the discussion:

"Branches... African ... home... I want it, but... America... new life... I like that too... I don't know..."  

His words came out in a disjointed stream.

It all sounded like verbalized Morse code or something, and, missing the bulk of the puzzles, I couldn't make much sense of it. In my exhausted state — after enduring the longest flight in my life, the sweltering African heat, chronic overthinking, tides of anxiety, and a series of bedroom gymnastics — I was too worn out to decipher his words, let alone keep my eyes open.

My head on his chest, I felt the warmth of a hand caress my face and the reverberating bass in his voice as he mocked, "Minnie, stop fighting it and just sleep. You can't win against Mother Nature."

Paranoia should have kicked in by now and made me wide awake, but it didn't, and I don't know why. Deep inside me, I found the strength to lick my slightly chapped lips, then murmur, "Chess, if life were a book, what would you call this moment right now?"

"Tickle me impressed. That's a profound question from someone who looks like they are about to log off. But to answer you, hmm, I don't know but --" he lifted a finger and tapped my nose, saying, "I can see what some of the chapters would be, and they range from 'Fucking the American Dream' to 'Mindelyn's Official Bedwarmer,' because you are seriously so cold."

"Haha, I slept with an idiot." I snickered.

"How about yourself?" He asked, "What would this moment be called?"

"Maybe something like 'Swiping Right for A Billion."

"Okay, but a billion of what?"

"Dollars? Problems?" I teased, "Men? A whole army of them."

The last six words swiped his grin clean and earned me a nose pinch and his signature tongue click as he grumbled, "Yeah, that's a massive no from this investing shark."

I defended my idea. "What? Why not? Come on, it's encrypted but somehow open-ended enough to hold mystery."

"It's boring, Minnie. Your book would collect dust on the shelf. And billionaires always come with problems, so there's not much enigma in that trope."

"Fine, Monsieur Problématique. How would you spice it up?" I hummed as he twirled one of my curls.

"Without straying too much from the original, I'd sell it as 'Swipe Right for A Billionaire.' With just those additional four letters, you've got a bestseller. It's catchy, sassy –– and what's better than falling in love with a 'sexy fuckable bank'?"

"Sorry. Hold up, what?" I snorted, sniffling another chuckle. "You did not just call yourself a 'sexy fuckable bank'?"

"I didn't. My Fanclub does, on the other hand. Bless them and their questionable fanfictions," he sighed, borderline annoyed.

Fans? Fanfictions?

I had completely forgotten that he was a huge celebrity. I didn't sleep with an idiot. I slept with a person who had as much -- if not more -- influence than a crowned prince of an empire.

"My bedwarmer is so popular. I'll make sure to leave a good review on your Wiki page," I quipped with another yawn and clumsy head scratch before shutting my eyes for the last time and whispering, "Thank you for everything, Chess."

He pulled me closer to him and engulfed me in the warmth of his body with a whispery "No, thank you, Minnie. I'll see you soon." Like a marshmallow to an open flame, I melted in his strong arms with the steady beating of his heart as my lullaby. Before nature took its course and slipped the blanket of silent darkness over me, the last thing I saw was his beautifully soft smile. I couldn't help but wonder if Cupid lurked in the shadows and had paused to admire his handiwork, giving me a knowing wink before disappearing into the night.

☀︎

How long had I floated in the abyss of nothingness? Only the omniscient creator of our universe would know.

All I could concur with was how the distant rustling of fabric roused my other senses and thus brought me back into my conscious state. Pain came at me from every direction as I lay there like a log. I was so out of shape, and it didn't help that I overdid it last night.

My eyelids blinked open to reveal a divine being gazing at the African sunrise. With tanned skin kissed by the sun's welcoming orange-yellow rays, Chess fixed his leather belt. He remained in that position for a bit, completely in awe. Or so I thought. Satisfied with the scenic sight, he closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh of an abstruse, pent-up emotion.

Was it frustration? Maybe exhaustion? Did something happen last night?

It was hard to decipher what it was exactly, but by the crinkling of his brows and sucked-in lips, it was plain to see that he was deep in thought about whatever it was.

My first (and probably maternal) instinct was to ask him if everything was okay. However, my awakening was premature, so I barely had any strength to move or speak.

Nothing had gone according to plan. I had planned an early breakfast together to show my gratitude, but the world was against me and had dragged me to the dungeons of slumberland. I hated myself for it, as this was the only time I could be openly affectionate and not come off as weird.

The debonairly spruce young man had now made his way to the coffee table, where he strapped his expensive-looking watch on and whipped on his nude-colored jacket. I thought he was about to head out, so it surprised me when he walked over to the bed, looked down at me, and just stared for a good two minutes or more in utter silence without a single expression.

"Miss Mindelyn Sei Suberson, huh?" He said my name with that same emotion I couldn't break down earlier, and I flinched slightly. He ignored my movement and carried on, "You woman are going to cause me some serious problems."

Problems? What problems? What did I do?

Confusion kicked me in the gut and left me shivering from a sudden spike in my anxiety. I believe that we had a great night. Yes, it was frustrating at some points, but on the whole, it was really fun and intimate. It was honestly the best night I had ever had with any guy — sex or no sex.

So, what had I done wrong? Was it the way I came off? Was it my bed skills? Where was it my fault? Just where did I fall short?

This was driving me crazy, and, with my depressive apprehension hammering down my confidence with brute force, hot tears burned the corners of my eyes. I needed enough power to (at the very least) ask what he meant by that. However, exhaustion weighed me down so much that I felt it persistently tug at my eyelids.

I fought back for as long as I could, but, like me, it wasn't enough. With failure as my choker, I fell victim again to the world of blackness with a quivering heart. And so, another round in the boxing ring of life ended with me kissing the canvas.

A kiss is a kiss, I guess.