Sincerely, Jaida

sterilized

a/n: rock the fuck on with your cock out.

REMEMBER: the kid is now nine-years-old. I wasn't that innocent at twelve-years-old and not at nine either, but that might have just been me.

Jaida

The rattle of the thankfully locked doorknob forces Xavier and I flying apart from one another. I buttoned up the vest that he didn't bother taking off my body, and my eyes searched the room for the rest of our clothes. My shorts and underwear were on the edge of the bed, his jeans were strewn on the floor along with his belt and his shirt-

Fuck. No, I'm fucking over it.

- his shirt was on the other side of my bedroom door.

"Are you okay? I heard you screaming-" her innocent voice paused, "Xavier? Are you in there? Why is your shirt here?"

"Just a minute, hon. We'll be out in a second," I yell in reply.

"Did you leave them there?" I hissed at the man himself, once I hear Calista's receding footsteps. His smile is cheeky and wicked as he leaned on to the wall, languidly. "That's not how I recall it. I'm 110% sure that you took my shirt off and dropped it there," I shot him a glare and called him a fuckwit but he just laughed as I frantically shimmied into my clothes. His laughter and my glare died down as I watch him watch me whilst looking so tastily dishevelled.

Speaking of his dick, my eyes trail down to the encased member. It's fucking hard. At least he had the decency to put his dick back in its pocket.

Grabbing a pillow off the bed, I threw it at him with as much force as I could muster given the last hour's activities. When I heard his surprised "oomph", I felt satisfied.

"Is that your way of pillow talk?" He muttered under his breath.

I grabbed his belt and jeans and threw it at him as well. The belt made a clunking sound when he caught it with his big hands. He smirked and ever so slowly, pulled on his jeans. His smirk vanished when his eyes caught on the top buttons of my shirt undone. With his eyes zeroed in on my chest, he walked over to me and slowly reached his hands out. When he started undoing the rest of the buttons, I made a sound in protest, but he ignored me.

"Let me," he pulled me over to the bed and placed me standing in front of his seated frame. He bunched the fabric of my shirt at my sides and edged his head forward. His lips feathered up the valley between my breasts and shifted to Bobby. His warm tongue parted from his lips and salved the itty, bitty, tiny ache he had caused earlier. I purred at the feeling of his hot breath and his wet tongue against my skin.

He wasn't initiating another round of sex. No, he was taking care of me.

"Look at me, it doesn't hurt," his eyes met mine, but he continued with his treatment, giving Bob the same attention. He kept his eyes on me as he pecked the outline of my boobs and finally sucked in my nipples. He muttered a sorry against each hardened nub. I cupped his face and kneeled between his open legs.

"I'm fine," I promised. His eyes searched mine for a second and then his face split into a smile. "No, you're perfect. Perfectly fine, if you will," he joked, pulling me up with him.

I just opened the door when I heard a ping. I turned to look for my phone when Xavier raised his in the air.

"That was me," he said and looked down at his phone, reading a message. When he looked back up, he smiled a small smile, "Cher invited you over for dinner."

I like Cherie, a lot. And I think Pops does too. I would ask him about it, but he's still mad at me. It seems as though everyone is. Rose and Pops haven't said a word since.