Back Together 5

She's out of her goddamn mind.

Dumber than he fucking thought.

Insane.

Jonah's thoughts degrade the longer he stands in the elevator, ascending slowly up the levels of his ex girlfriend's apartment.

Floor 3

Floor 4

Floor 5

Ding.

The doors part, and Jonah can feel his blood boil, can feel how the tension he holds in his neck, shoulders, and back are contributing to a bitch of a headache.

Four months. Four miserable months. The longest they'd ever gone broken up since the Great Pregnancy Scare of 2022.

And not a fucking word, not a text, a dm, a note. Nothing.

Like Jonah didn't fucking exist, like he didn't have

rights

to Temi.

Ridiculous.

The walk from the elevator to her apartment is, in reality, about ten seconds, but it feels like a fucking eternity. The hallway feels like it lengthens infinitely, taunting Jonah with the prize behind the door, prolonging the inevitable.

His knocks are loud, constant and unbreaking, a steady thump thump thump until the door swings open to reveal Temidire in all her glory. She's barely 5'4, which means when she enters his view, he gets a look at the top of her head, the mass of short, dark curls that look soft to the touch. She cranes her head backwards, and Jonah breathes an automatic sigh of relief. She looks good. The same, really. Threadbare tank top and itty bitty running shorts. Her pouty, soft lips the same colour as her warm brown skin, tiny dark beauty spot just above one of her stubby brows, sweeping lashes the colour of pitch. Her face is placid, inexpressive as always, a tepid little canvas for her miniscule, micro expressions.

The ones Jonah adores. Like the one on her face now. The

slightest

widening of her fathomless black eyes, the parting of that cupid's bow-less mouth.

She's surprised to see him.

Which is...

fucking ridiculous

considering, not two hours ago, she posted

that

picture on social media

for him

. He isn't stupid, and neither is Temi. She never posts herself, always snaps food pictures, or photos of birds, or, on occasion, candids of Jonah, with no words or location tags, just the black little heart she always uses. Just for him.

So when he unlocks his phone to double tap on the '

temitime just posted!'

notification, and he's gifted with a picture of his

'on-when-he-says-so, off-when-she's-annoyed'

girlfriend on a

fucking boat,

basking in the sun, framed by clear, blue waters, Jonah fucking

explodes

. Her plush body is stretched against a railing, clad in a barely there gold bikini, the strings of said swimwear biting into the pliable fat of her sides, hips and thighs, framing the soft pudge of her stomach, the healthy width of her ass. Her skin is glowing and wet, reflecting the sun, the heavy teardrops of her tits nearly dwarf her torso, barely supported by the halter top of her suit. Her eyes are shielded by a huge pair of sunglasses, and Jonah isn't ashamed to say he zoomed in on the reflection, nearly shattering his phone when he realized

a man

had taken the picture.

So he's here. Because he needs to know who she was with. And how long she'd been cheating on him with some

asshole

with a

boat

.

"Tems." He greets, using every inch of his height to loom over her. He's still grimy from the garage, barely saying bye to his boss before racing over on his bike, tearing out of Zeke's Auto like the devil himself was on his heels.

"Jonah." She responds. Her voice is quiet, smooth as soft serve and often, just as cold. Like always, it crests over Jonah like a wave, but this time, it doesn't do much to soothe. Instead, all he can think about is that even, hushed,

cool, cool, cool

voice whispering to

Mr. Boat.

Telling him how nice he is, how happy she is to be there, how her ex is a mechanic and could

never

afford a goddamn boat, not unless he got it from a toy store. Or stole it.

High off that anger, that living, breathing jealousy, he pushes his way past her, into the cozy warmth of her apartment. It's just as it always is, afrocentric decor splashed on every beige or orange wall, those little pillows and various blankets and throws because his Tem gets cold easily. He inhales deeply, indulging in the sandalwood and vanilla scent of her favourite candles.

God, he missed her.

A glance at the TV screen tells him he interrupted her weirdo fucked up movie time. The killer on screen brings down his axe, cleanly decapitating the pretty blonde co-ed, silencing her violin-shrill screams.

"Home alone?" He asks, and all things considered, he thinks he does a

pretty

good job of remaining composed, of not glaring a

hole

through Temidire's pretty brown head.

Temi only shoots him a blank stare, sidling around him so he's closer to the door.

"Because if you aren't..." He trails off, eyes riveted to her form, following Temi as she settles back on her plush leather couch, the hem of her shorts riding up, exposing more.

"If I'm not?" She murmurs, eyes fixed on the television. "You'll leave?" She supplies, and Jonah knows he's imagining the hopeful lilt to her voice, because Temi doesn't really emote like that, but damn if it doesn't fire him up all over again.

"Don't get cute." He snaps, stomping over to her settee. He wraps, long, calloused fingers around her chubby little ankle, tugging hard, until Tem nearly slides clear off the furniture. "You fucking around on me, Tems?" He growls, and just

vocalizing

the question has his chest burning, willowing up bitter black smoke that clouds his vision and poisons his mind.

"Are you insane?" It's barely a question, thanks to the lack of inflection in Temidire's voice, but he gets the point.

He shakes his head, smiling down at her, trying to maintain his calm, what little of it he had before he crossed the threshold. "Who was he, then, Tem?" She doesn't even

pretend

to not know who he's talking about, trying to pry her wiggling foot from his grasp. He

considers

letting go, because he's a good guy. He's calm. He is in control. Jonah Marant is in

total control.

"What's his name?!" He bellows, the sound of his voice carrying all of his frustration, all of his anger, the late nights he bore without her, smacking almost visibly against her walls, jostling the framed art and wooden masks.

Total control.

He clears his throat with an embarrassed cough, his cover blown to pathetic smithereens. "I mean,

Please,

tell me his name." She shakes her head, trying to escape his grasp again. This time he relinquishes his hold, letting her leg slip from his grasp. The man's voice turns cloying, penitent, "C'mon, you can tell me, Temi. I won't be mad. I won't

do

anything."

"We are not together Jonah. And even if we were, which we are not, I did not cheat on you." She drones, dark eyes boring into him.

It's second nature at this point, crooking his spine so he looms over her, the way he threads his fingers into the short coils of Temi's hair. She must have washed it recently. Soft as a cloud, the curls are looser than usual, the scent of honey and cinnamon wafting up, up, into the man's lungs. He settles his other hand at the base of her throat, and watches the daze settle over her, watches her bring a trembling, unsteady hand up to his shirt, clutching at the fabric. His eyes drag from her hand to her face, skating lazy circles over her features, the quirk of her mouth, minute in its changes, the thickness of her lashes, the baby fat still clinging to her cheeks.

"Then tell me his fucking name." He grits out, and when Temi remains silent, Jesus, Mary and Joseph themselves could not have cooled Jonah's temper. His eyes go cold, and his hand tightens the tiniest bit, constricting her air.

"Knees then. You don't wanna talk, fine. I'll help." He can hear the venom in his own words, and it's only a testament to his love for Temi, infuriating,

deceitful,

Temi, that the whisper doesn't become a shout.

There comes a time, in the endless, painful cycle that is Jonah and Temidire's relationship, where Jonah just

knows

he's done

just

enough to break Temi's resolve (it usually happens just before he gets his thumb in her ass). She gets this look on her face, this

shine

to her eyes, like she can't believe it's happening

again

, even though they both know it's an inevitability. She's got it now, which means Jonah doesn't have to worry she'll bite his dick off when she sinks to her knees without complaint.

He's got a Temi timer in his chest that, without fail, alerts him when Temi's tolerance for his bullshit is back on a high.

The dark haired man slides a large, calloused hand under her chin, hooking two fingers into her cheek, and pulling her lying little gob open. Inspects the inside of her forced open mouth like he's looking for something specific. It's turning Tem on, her nipples poking through her tank top, her breath hitching short and messy, eyes glimmering as she stares up at him, unblinking, docile as a lamb. With fingers first, calm and detached as he can fucking manage, Jonah fills her mouth, sliding his pointer and middle over the wet plane of her tongue, pushing them deeper until Temi drools over herself, until he feels the suffocating squeeze of her throat around his digits, burning,

branding

. She chokes, gurgles around them, coughs softly when he fully removes them. He taps the Temoni's chin, and like he trained her, she parts her puffy, plush lips, tongue out, the perfect canvas. Jonah spits into her mouth, his dick twitching at the sight of Temi swallowing it without hesitation,

right

before he unzips his jeans and forces his already hard cock as deep as it can go, watching that heady disbelief melt into glassy pleasure, watching her chest struggle and rise, her lungs burning for oxygen. His fingers tug at her curls, hard enough to hurt, he's sure, but Temi only moans, only follows where Jonah wants her, swallowing him to the hilt. A bolt of pleasure races up his spine, warning Jonah alongside the buzzing in his legs. Once, twice, three times he fucks into the welcoming clutch of his ex's mouth, before pulling her off.

She's pulling large, noisy, breaths in, exhaling in uneven, rattling puffs of air. All while Jonah tries to figure out whether he wants her ass or her tits in his face when he fucks her. Tem struggles to stand in the aftermath, chubby legs trembling, with the effort. When she finally gets upright, her shorts have ridden up, until they closer resemble panties than sportswear, a sight that only gets better when she

does

trip, bending almost in half over the seat cushions of her sofa.

Ass it is.

He peels the layers off easy, knuckles rasping against the peachy flesh of her ass, round and soft, jiggling with each half movement in his hands. He notches the head of his cock, peeking out from the unzipped fly of his jeans, against the sticky, clinging lips of her sex. "Last chance." He mutters, pale, broad hands cemented at her hip and shoulder. All Tem does is wiggle her hips, looking over her shoulder with those ink pools she calls eyes. She's

burning hot

on the inside, and Jonah slams a fist against the adjacent wall as her cunt relaxes around the pulsing tip of his length. His back aches with the position, protesting after a long, gruelling day of physical labor, impeling Jonah to pluck Tem from the floor, staying nestled within her.

He perches her on the very edge of the couch cushions, using wide, rough hands to control the rhythm of her hips, to drag her trembling body back and forth on his dick, spreading Tem open, forcing her soft, clinging insides to drip nonstop down his balls. He fucks her so hard her ass ripples from the impact, a mind-numbing reaction that has Jonah struggling not to come early. Temi can't force coherent words past her craned open lips. Instead, gasping, wretched sobs escape her mouth, like every thrust of Jonah's hips eke fat tears from the corners of the Temoni's eyes.

"No." He growls, jaw clenched, fingertips digging into her plush skin. "Don't you dare cry, Dire, you used to take this dick every fucking day with no tears, not my fault you're out of practice." Temi only wails in response, but never stops swinging her wide hips against him, never stops seeking him out. His hands slip over her tummy as he slumps forward, cupping at her tits, letting the motion of their coupling drag her nipples over his flat palms, gripping at the fat little mounds and tugging downwards, squeezing till he reaches their swollen peaks, only to start the process all over again.

The woman's head droops, and Jonah knows her eyes are stuck on the bulge of his cock beneath the pudge of her stomach. She sobs, teeth gritting against each other while Jonah saws into her, back and fucking forth, enjoying the gripping, heady pulse of her pussy. He brings down one of the hands he has plucking at her nipples to slide the palm of his hand over the swell of her belly, pressing down, until Temidire screams, kicking out her legs helplessly.

"I'm gonna bruise your cervix, And then you're going to soak my cock." Jonah groans, and like perfectly timed call and response, Temi keens, the obscene sound of her cunt, distended around Jonah's length, echoing in both their ears.

Tem goes limp in his arms, ragdoll pliant as she does exactly as he predicted. Her core tenses, and her legs twitch, a wet sounding gasp heralds her lungs' greedy intake of air as she drenches him, slick cunt grasping, milking him like he loved. His eyes are treated to the visual of Temi's arched, sweat sheened back, the twin dimples just above her ass that he digs his thumbs into, her delicate little neck, that downy head of curls, the smooth skin of her forehead when she cranes her head back far enough. Fuck, he should've done this in front of a mirror, should've made her stare at her own fucked out, needy reflection.

The sensation returns, urging him to paint her insides, and Jonah wraps his broad hands around her middle, constricting around her, so Tem can only feel their skin to skin contact, can only focus on Jonah tunneling inside her, filling her completely.

"You going to take my cum, Temi?" He coos into her, watching her frantic hands grip and tear at the sofa cushions as the tip of his cock batters her insides, knocking at her womb with reckless abandon. It probably hurts, poor thing, but Jonah made a promise, and he'd follow through.

Besides,

she likes it.

He knows she does.

"How deep do you want it?" He moans above, watching her hips motions, swivel and grind back, working his length for everything he has.

"Uh, muh." She babbles, his groping hands the only thing keeping her from collapsing against the couch.

"Use your words." He taunts, and brings a heavy hand down on the side of her thigh, knowing her ass simply provides too much cushioning for Jonah to dole out any

real

pain.

"I-In. A-ah all the w-way in." She struggles, mouth slurring any words she didn't stutter. Her head is leaning against the back of the couch now, craned just enough for him to see her drooling, half unconscious expression. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and there's hardly any time between the woman voicing her request and the man filling it. He holds her down, pins her head to the couch cushions and pistons himself as deep as he can go, feeling the entrance to her cervix pulse and part around the very tip of his dick. There's the span of a heartbeat before Jonah is coming inside her, pulse after pulse of his load coating her, stuffing her, a drugging, sensation that has his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a mutt, soundtracked by Temi's fuck-stupid mewling. They shudder together, bodies wracked with pleasure Jonah is unequipped to handle, being away from his Tem for so long. The noise she makes when he finally pulls out makes Jonah feel like he's been electrocuted, currents of energy running the course of his skeleton. A mournful whimper, or something. Needy,

vulnerable

.

"So?" He huffs, sitting to the right of her, ignoring her little grunt of protest at having his sweaty butt on her beloved couch. He turns just a bit, tracing the curve of her spine, rooting his fingers in the curls at her nape, damp with sweat.

"It...was...my cousin." Tem confesses between pants, curled up over the back of her couch, steadily leaking come between her thighs, letting it smear and stick to her syrup and sienna skin. "Knew you'd look."

Jonah sits in that for a moment, letting his brain catch up to his rapidly pounding heart. He takes a deep, steadying breath, turns the information in his mind, runs a shaky hand through the dark mop of his hair. Then he levels Temi with a lead paint stare, like he's trying to melt the side of her face he can see, clean off.

"I'm gonna put it in your ass next time."