Chasmere
"Fuck... right there," I moaned, back arched, nails digging into the leather seat. "Just like that, Harlem."
He knew exactly what he was doing, rough, filthy, unapologetic. And I didn't want sweet. I wanted that stroke that made my legs shake. That pressure that had my vision blurring.
He had me bent over the back seat like I was nothing but a body he could use, and I was fine with that. That's exactly what I came for.
He didn't waste time. Shoved my thong to the side, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my waist tight enough to leave proof. The second he pressed into me, my breath caught hard, a sharp gasp ripping from my chest.
"Shit, baby..." I gasped, pushing back on him, greedy. "You know what the fuck you doing."
He moved deep and rough, no mercy in it, the kind that made my thighs tremble and my breath stutter. The SUV filled with heat, with the sound of skin and breath and the windows fogging up like we'd been in there too long already.
He pulled back just enough to make me feel it, then drove right back into me, hips snapping hard, deliberate.
I couldn't even answer. Just nodded, mouth open, eyes rolling as it built low and tight in my stomach.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's what I thought."
He grabbed my ass, spread me wider, pace turning punishing, relentless. When I came, it hit hard, legs shaking, body locking up around him, breath breaking.
And Harlem always delivered.
That was the deal.
No strings. No expectations. I let him fuck me senseless, and in return? My nails and hair stayed done, my closet stayed designer, and my rent never saw a due date.
No love. No feelings. Just wet panties and Louboutins..
Harlem was never mine.
And honestly? I ain’t want him.
He was already claimed, by one of them boogie bitches who swear they different just because they learned how to pronounce quinoa. Whole time she came out the same pissy-ass projects I did. Same roaches. Same busted elevators. She just rebranded better.
Natural hair. Natural body. No work done. No scars. Meanwhile I had to fly my ass to Mexico and let a stranger with a medical degree and name I couldn’t even pronounce sculpt me like clay. Paid real money for these hips and titties.
And her?
She had a homegrown ass so fat it deserved its own ZIP code. Flat stomach. Big ol’ titties that sat up without permission. Even her mama was built like a problem. I still don’t know what the hell the women in that family was eating, but it clearly wasn’t struggle.
And that’s what really pissed me off.
Because she ain’t even have to work hard for it.
The bitch was a whole damn social media influencer. Over five million followers.
Brands and designers sent her clothes, shoes, hair products, whatever she wanted, paying her just to exist in it.
She walked around the city like God hand picked her. Ring flashing, acting like she won the grand prize. Pictures of them on Instagram like “grateful for my king.”
Meanwhile, her king had me folded up like laundry.
I been fucking her husband since the day before they got married.
Not after.
Before.
Four years straight.
While she was picking flowers and fittings, I was picking him up. While she was learning how to be a wife, I was teaching him how to lie better.
She thought she had it all.
Whole time, I had the dick she thought only belonged to her.
And I ain’t even love him.
I just loved knowing I could.
I straddled him, he tried to guide the rhythm.
I slapped his hands away.
"Nah," I whispered against his mouth. "You don't get to control shit tonight."
His eyes snapped to mine half lidded, already gone, but I wasn't done. I leaned in, pressed my hand to his chest, moved with something to prove, reckless, loud enough that anybody walking by could've heard.
I leaned into his ear, voice low and venomous.
"I bet your bitch don't fuck you like this, do she?"
The words barely settled before his hands clamped down hard on my hips.
Then he pushed me off him.
Just like that.
"Didn't I tell you about calling her a bitch?" he growled, voice tight, dangerous.
I froze.
Even now - even like this - he stopped everything for her.
Damn.
I swallowed it fast.
"I'm sorry, daddy," I whispered, softening instantly, sliding down between his knees. "Let me make it up to you."
His jaw flexed, but he didn't stop me.
I focused on him, on fixing it, on doing what I knew would calm him down. I didn't rush. Didn't break eye contact. Didn't stop until his body finally relaxed and that edge left his face.
When I looked up, he was satisfied.
And that meant the money would keep flowing.
Because I knew my place.
And I played it well.
And it showed.
“Hey sis, what you up to?”
I already knew it was about to be some bullshit.
I rolled my eyes. “What you want, Cedes?” Phone wedged between my shoulder and ear, I stood in my walk-in closet, I pulled a red Balenciaga two-piece off the hanger and laid it across the bed. Keno bought it last weekend. One of my little sneaky links. That man liked to spend when he felt appreciated. And today was hot as hell outside, New York summer had no mercy.
She sucked her teeth. “Damn, why you always think I want something? I can’t just call my big sister?”
I glanced at the phone like she could see my face twisting up.
“Bitch, please. Try again. You don’t call me unless you need something, so go ’head and say it or I’m hanging up. I don’t got time for your games.”
“Why you gotta be so nasty?” she asked.
“Same reason you annoying, Cedes. What you want.”
She hesitated.
Too long.
My thumb hovered over the screen. I was already halfway out.
“Look… my rent due and—”
“Nope,” I cut in.
“You ain’t even gonna let me finish,” she whined.
“I don’t need to. I already know where this going, and the answer still no. I know you too damn well.”
“You don’t even know how much I was gonna ask for.”
“I don’t care if it’s a penny. Still no.”
“That’s fucked up, Cash. If you asked me, I’d help you.”
I laughed, sharp. “Girl, stop. First of all, I’d never ask you for shit. Second, you lying. You stingy as hell. You wouldn’t spit on somebody if they was on fire and it required effort.”
Silence.
“Call Mom,” I said.
“I did. She told me to call you.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I bet she did.”
“So you gonna help me?” she asked again, hopeful like repetition was gonna wear me down.
“Hold on,” I said. “So all them niggas you been fucking with, and you can’t get not one of them to pay your rent?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I mean… yeah, but they don’t really got money like that.”
I stopped moving. Really listened.
“Wait,” I said slowly. “So you laying up with brokies?”
That shit offended me on a spiritual level.
Our mama ain’t teach us everything, but she drilled one rule into us early. You don’t give your time or your pussy to a man that can’t pay a bill or put money in your pocket.
Men were for financial and recreational use only.
And somehow, Mercedes missed the whole damn lesson.
“That’s your problem right there,” I said. “You entertaining men who can’t do nothing for you.”
“Cash—”
“Nah,” I cut her off again. “I don’t wanna hear it. You too grown for this conversation.You out here struggling behind niggas with empty pockets.”
“They not that bad,” she tried.
I laughed. Not loud. Just enough to let her know she sounded crazy.
“If you gotta explain a man’s potential instead of his bank account, he already failed,” I said. “Bills don’t accept promises, Cedes. Rent don’t care about vibes.”
She sighed heavy into the phone. “So that’s it? You really not gone help me?”
“I help people who help themselves,” I said calmly. “You want help? Fix your standards.”
“That’s cold.”
“No,” I corrected. “That’s facts.”
She was quiet again. Different quiet this time. The kind where the truth settles in whether you like it or not.
“I gotta go,” I added. “Figure it out.”
Before she could respond, I ended the call.
I exhaled slowly, tossing the phone onto the bed like it hadn’t just tried to ruin my mood. Family or not, I wasn’t nobody’s safety net for bad decisions.
I slipped out of my robe, pulled the Balenciaga set on piece by piece, admiring how it hugged me like it was custom-made. Because it was.
I didn’t save people.
I saved myself.
And anybody who couldn’t keep up had to watch from the outside.
