Yuh Wife Cyan Do It Like Me

He picked me up after work, still smelling like marriage and stress. I sat sideways in his car, legs spread just enough to show I wasn’t wearing panties. He stuttered when he saw.

“Your wife ever ride you at red lights?” I asked, climbing across the console and unbuckling his pants with my teeth. Traffic moved. We didn’t.

His moans were low, desperate. His hands tangled in my braids like he needed something to hold onto—some excuse. I looked up at him while sucking slow, nasty. The kind of suck that makes a man forget where home is.

We pulled over near the harbor. Bent him over the hood. “You ever had a woman take you from the back?” I asked, slapping his ass like he owed me rent.

By the time I was done, his ring was off, shirt open, and he was begging me to come home with him. I laughed. “Me? Mi naw deal wid wife tings. Yuh can keep di house. Just call me when yuh waan feel alive.”