RAZIEL
"Can we go to your room?" The goddess on my lap requests, her honeyed drawl as courteous as it is alluring. "I need it."
Though my mind has wandered to inappropriate places with Zamira for months, my imagination could never concoct a melody so dulcet. When I heard "Nobody's Supposed to Be Here" being sung acapella, I wondered who the hell had the nerve to sing a soulful ballad so powerfully with their own flair. Rio had released my hand, enraptured by the voice himself.
"Papi, it's an angel!" He exclaimed, his little legs running towards the heavenly notes.
I strolled behind him. My pace picked up as the song hit the bridge, the soloist's vocals swelling. When I got to the doorway, I witnessed my baby momma getting her ass ripped to shreds by none other than Zamira McBride. Mir sang Eve into the ground with a cold-blooded stare, fluctuating modulations with spine-shivering ease.
The choreographer's deep, dark brown skin and equally mesmerizing chestnut-shaped eyes entrapped me from our first collision. At the time, she was 19, my little sister's new friend at UCLA. I was 22, freshly graduated from Princeton University, releasing an album with my best friend just for a unique experience. We were on two different planets. So, beyond her beauty, she didn't interest me. As life went on, that album me and Soul created spread across the world, introducing us as queer R&B sensations. Amid fame, a toxic three-year relationship, and the birth of the most amazing child I could wish for, Mir and I's interactions have consistently been cordial and scarce throughout the years.
But, when she became the leading choreographer and my dance partner on The Eternal Fantasies World Tour, I began noticing the untold stories in the depths of her eyes. Through rehearsals, I found myself craving to know every little piece about her. The late-night dance practices to sensual slow jams may have aroused me a few times, but there's so much more to her than her petite, flexible, pleasantly endowed frame.
I can't believe I'm about to do this. Denying a fine woman my sexual attention isn't my strong suit. But, if I desire a healthy, committed relationship, I must grow up and upgrade my resistance to my impulses.
"You said you wanna go to my room?" I ask, even though I understood every ounce of that Creole accent.
"Mhm." She stretches her dainty hands across my broad shoulders. Her gaze gawks at my t-shirt as if she has X-ray vision. "Unless you have condoms hidden under your couch cushions." A soft, fairy-like titter resonates from her throat, fading away too briefly.
My nostrils flare, emitting a breathy laugh as short as her titter. "Nah, I'm not that much of a bachelor." Her eyes flicker towards mine, and its rich brownness envelops me. My heart pounds at an alarming rate. It's never been this needy, ever. Something about her sets her on a paradisiacal island, millions of miles from the rest.
Though my dick's harder than concrete mix, my subconscious reminds me of my risks. I can't accept the same old, same old. I'm tired of women collecting me like I'm a rare Pokémon. Either they want to fuck me to fulfill their trans-man fantasies, to enhance their social media rankings, or to trap me with an eighteen-year paycheck. While I appreciate the financial ability to undergo life-altering procedures and have no reservations about conceiving Rio with Eve, I aspire to welcome my next child with my wife.
"What's wrong?" Mir asks. Her thick eyebrows pull together, contorting her precious face into concern.
"Nothing at all, mami." The rhythmic motion of my thumbs on her hips relaxes her features. "Everything's so right that I want to be responsible. It'd make my night, possibly even my life, to have sex with you. Before we transition into that, do you only want to fuck, or do you sense a deeper connection?
A slow smile spreads across her full lips until she reveals her immaculate teeth. She pinches my chin, clutching it in her fingers. "Boy, I like you," she says with smooth fondness. "So much that even if you can't put it down..." Her tongue swipes at her fleshy, tender mouth. "I'll teach you how."
My dick constricts against the fabric of my briefs, becoming more sensitive and uncomfortable by the second. Influenced by its increasing neediness and Mir's reassuring, smoking-hot statement, I respond. "My mastery skills in the bedroom have never been brought to question. But, if you have any extracurricular lessons you think I may need, I'll be happy to be your student."
She purrs against my lips. "I love a man who's open to some instruction." Her mouth brushes against my jawline and nips at the taut skin. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere, Raz," she mumbles. The validity of the promise eludes me, but it's enough to halt the constant stream of doubts in my rational mind.
I draw her body closer to mine by her thighs. Perceiving my next action, she cradles her arms around my neck. Her legs encircle my waist when I stand, and an adorable giggle rings in my ears. "Ooo, you're even stronger than you look." A taunting inflection and a hint of intrigue dance within her tone.
As I lead us to my bedroom, my big head grows larger. She knows how to speak to someone and propel them to the status of "The Most Extraordinary Person in the Universe." I've seen her uplift her dancers simply by caring about them outside their performance quality. While her crew adores their second-in-command, Monty, Mir's their favorite instructor and peer.
"Since we'll need to pack in the morning...," I begin. I'm still in disbelief that she agreed to accompany me to Japan. But I feel she'll be the best travel partner I've ever had. Since she's been a couple of times and her mom's Japanese, she's privy to the culture and, most importantly, the language. Fuck, I can't wait to hear her speak her second language all day. "...we should go light," I end, entering the bedroom.
"Fuck that. Give me an outstanding first impression. We can catch up on sleep on the plane ride."
Damn. Alright then. That's no problem at all.
I gently place Mir on the bed and slip my phone from my front pocket. As I set the mood with the lighting, the dancer bounces up and immediately unbuckles my belt. Her tongue sits at the edge of her bottom lip as her fingers work to unbutton and unzip me. The lack of shyness, watching her go after what she desires, makes my body shudder at what's about to come. "Music?" I ask.
With my jeans around my ankles, Mir's staring at my boxer briefs with parted lips. I get similar reactions whenever a woman gets the pleasure of seeing what I'm working with. Being trans has its drawbacks, but being able to pick the structure and capabilities of my dick is a superpower. Probably why a bunch of conservative, queerphobic lobbyists tried to kill every transgender surgery advancement over the past decade. Unfortunately, they've succeeded in banning surgeries in certain states, but that's why Soul and I have The Trans(essence) Foundation, funding bros like us to travel and get the procedures they need. We assist every letter from the LGBTQIA+ community. The transformative joy we give through our foundation renders the immense love we receive from our music nearly insignificant.
"Music, mami?" I ask again, lifting her chin to grasp her attention. Even with my assistance, her eyes float back downward. I chuckle and play my midnight R&B playlist without permission. The music flows as low and seductive as the lighting hovering over us.
"You better be careful with that thing," she warns me. Her fierce brown eyes finally meet mine and hold me. A subtle softness sweeps through her stare, making her as adorable as she is tempting. "I'm a little lady." Her stature may be petite, but every feature exudes grandeur–from the graceful width of her captivating nose to the lush fullness of her lips, the generous curves of her ample breasts, down to the plumpness of her peach-shaped booty.
"I'll only give you what you can take." A forehead kiss seals my promise.
Fingers graze my hips as they tug down the tented cotton. When the air hits my dick, I exhale a shaky breath. It soars into action, greeting itself with Mir eye-to-eye. She hesitantly gives it a handshake, her palm barely fitting around its girth. She slides her touch against my tight flesh. I shut my eyes, reveling in the glorious sensation.
"Sit down." The instruction is so clear that my skin prickles with anticipation.
I step out of my underwear and take off my shirt for good measure. Her eyes glint as she observes my cut abdomen. She smirks naughtily, removing the sweatshirt I let her borrow. Her bountiful breasts spring forth with a graceful curve in their natural position. As I admire their perfect balance of drooping while remaining perky, salvia builds in my mouth.
"Sit down," she repeats. Her voice has an added edge that makes me obey, afraid of the consequences that might ensue. "Good boy."
Though I have a three-year age advantage, I am completely submissive to her every whim. Weird. I'm not used to someone else being in control. My ego must possess a subservient trait exclusive to Mir's queendom.
While I'm entranced by her aura (and titties), she ejects a glob of spit on the head of my dick. As it drizzles down, she commits the same disrespectful gesture to her right hand. Our shoulders touch with electricity as she leans against me. A fingertip swirls, teasing my tip.
"Mmm, look at that pre-cum. Do you mess up your boxers during our practices?"
With authority, she takes command of my rocket, glossing it with her saliva and my pre-cum. Her wrist jerks slowly in sync with the sultry, slow jam in the background: "Coming to My Senses" by Alina Baraz. As Alina sings about her lover being a fascinating color that doesn't exist, I ponder the surrealism of Zamira. How is she real? No one's made my heart rate skyrocket or rallied flutters at the bottom of my stomach. Not like this.
"Answer me," she says sharply, squeezing my dick.
"Y-yeah." I stammer, then pull myself together. My gaze takes turns viewing her hand sliding up and down my erection, her hardened nipples, and her breathtaking visage. "It's embarrassing when you make me hard, but you're just too sexy."
"What's sexy about me?" She bats her natural eyelashes cutely.
"Your complexity." She arches an eyebrow, signaling for me to clarify. Her soft palm performs a steady stride, not too fast nor slow, just enough to labor my breaths. "You ... you're feisty but kind. Adorable, but sexy. Any room you walk in ... you command it, even when it's not your intention. That's so ... attractive to ... me."
"Oh, really?" Playfulness sparkles in her eyes. "I always thought my ass was my greatest asset."
"Shit ... you befuddle mathematicians with that ... fat ass of yours. It's definitely an asset, just like your pretty titties, thick thighs, and toned abs. You work so hard ... on your body. I worship your efforts."
"Gracias, papi."
For the first time tonight, a soft groan escapes my throat. "Fuck..."
"You like it when I call you papi?" She coos, her fluid wrist movements enhancing.
"Uhhh huh."
"Uhhh huh." She mocks me with a provocative smile. "I love it when men moan for me. It's a sign of true confidence. I want you to come apart in my hand, papi. Can you do that?"
Handjobs barely get me there, but Mir has mastered the act. Twisting to my sensitive tip with faultless pressure, using her free hand to fondle my balls, all while muttering how she can't wait for me to explode.
"That's it, papi. Give it to me," she encourages.
My fingers burrow into the edge of the bed. With a forceful groan, my hips suddenly shoot upward. Thick, warm bullets shoot me in my chest. I throw myself back onto the mattress, my muscles relaxing against its firmness. My brain shuts down as I'm placed on a first-class flight to heaven. As I enjoy the ride, my vision blackens.
Some time passes. Maybe a minute or two. Other than my own grumbles and "fuck," I haven't heard much else.
A delighted voice comments, "Damn, you're healthy." It's incoming as if it had gone somewhere.
I open my eyes. Mir climbs onto the bed with a cloth. The damp rag dabs at my chest and abs, cleaning the cloudy palette. Once I'm clean, she lays beside me on her side and grasps my jaw. As she strokes my chin's bristles, her lips poetically move against mine. I pivot to my side for the perfect angle. Our mouths and tongues collaborate, composing amorous sonnets of gentle smacks and muffled murmurs. As our physiques draw closer, our hands revere every crevice of each other.
Forget Tokyo. Let's lay here and exalt one another for eternity.
My hand slips into the baggy sweatpants she's rocking. "Damn," I mumble against her lips. "I haven't touched you yet, and I feel how wet you are." My palm glides down her slick, shaved pubic mound until it dips into a puddle. "Fuck, Mir. Why are you so messy?"
"Because I want you," she whimpers, pouting. Just like that, her assertive demeanor has changed to sweet submissiveness. "Don't make me wait." And once again, my Royal Highness is back.
I move my open palm back and forth, her delicate clit rolling against the lines etching my skin. She guides her hips to my movements, breathing harshly, sometimes slipping into light moans. Her hand cups my face, keeping me at eye contact.
"Don't you want to eat it?"
Her shapeshifting talents from a brat to an angel are as comical as they are alluring. A smooth laugh slips from me. "Is that what you want me to do, baby?"
Damn, I hit her with the "b" word too soon. But fuck it, she's too precious with her fake frown.
"Yes, I want you to put your face in it. Until you suffocate."
"Damn, I gotta die while eating you out?" I chuckle, withdrawing my hand from her pants. When I do, her nectar gleams across every inch of my fingers, tethering between the digits.
"My pussy's so good that it'll bring you back to life," she replies with a small giggle.
I bring my fingertips to my lips, savoring the sweet and bitter aroma lingering on them. As I suck on them, I'm granted the gift of everlasting life. Or at least, that's how fucking wonderful she tastes. "You're not lying. You taste amazing." My athletic frame climbs on her, hovering low as I smooch her perfume-scented neck. "And I'm going to devour every drop."
But first, I make love to her bouncy breasts, cupping, sucking, and nipping at their dark flesh. Her hands encourage me. One massages the nape of my neck and shoulders while the other twirls my short twists. She sounded angelic earlier when I experienced her singing voice, but her tone when she's pleased is something I could listen to on repeat for the rest of my days. Her moans, susurrus and harmonic, offer reassuring praises and boost my serotonin to an unruly level. I may have to be forgiven for how many times I'm going to make this woman orgasm tonight.
Once I remove her pants, she bends her knees and spreads them apart. The floodgates of heaven rope me until I'm submersed into their glory. Mir writhes as I unleash my worship onto her, pinning my head as I use her thighs as handlebars. Every drop of her tastes as magnificent as a treat from Miss Tilda's bakery. Her pussy's so damn good, it has me moaning.
"Oooo, get that shit," she carps, her hips rotating to my flicking tongue. "Yeah, like that, papi." I peek up. She's clutching a titty, her face cutely scrunched up. "You like that pussy in your face?"
Fuck. I mumble my answer and insert my finger into a tight, warm hole. Man, she wasn't lying about being a "little lady." I'll definitely take my time with her.
Within minutes, Mir's legs quake. Her voice wobbles along with her frame. Blasphemous swears expel from her, followed by a soul-saving, rapturous cry. She shifts on her side. Those toned legs of hers trap me in a weird, submission-style martial arts headlock. She grinds her hips against my face, cashing in on her big O. The gyrations lead to a high-pitched, utterly impressive note. Her grip loosens before I drown in her endless ambrosia. My shoulder receives a kick, not hard, but with enough force to detach me from her.
She claimed she was going to kill and revive me with her pussy. It looks like the opposite happened. She rests on her back, eyes closed shut, and fingers interlocked over her stomach. Despite her casket-like pose, her body shutters in intervals with a bird-sweet moan here or there.
I maneuver up the bed and pull her into my arms. Though it's an affectionate gesture, our cuteness lasts for, at the max, two minutes. Then we're back to making out, and Mir's reawakening my dick from its slumber. This passionate makeout session progresses with a faster tempo than the previous ones, fueled by our shared anticipation for the ultimate climax.
Before I know it, I'm sitting up with my back against the backboard. Mir holds my shoulders, biting her lip as she saddles up. I gaze downward, guiding her onto my stallion. An internal alarm goes haywire. Her progress gets intercepted. "Shit, I forgot to put on a condom," I say, lifting her hips.
"Oops, I should've reminded you," she says, sitting on my thighs. "I'm sorry."
"It's cool, ángel." I reach to the right of my California King bed and dip my hand into the nightstand. As I fumble for the condoms, I add, "I'm clean, but I always wrap up."
"Me too," she says. Her fingers trail down my stomach as she patiently waits for me to find my condoms. I swore I just bought a fresh box. Right? "Everything okay, papi?"
Yo. I'm bugging. How do I not have a singular condom?
My hopeless search comes to a depressing end. I close my eyes, not willing to glimpse Mir's disappointment. The padded headboard vibrates as I bang the back of my head against it. A hesitant laugh asks, "Um ... you good?"
"I ... ran out of condoms."
"Damn, that sucks. How many women do you fuck?"
"Not that many."
"Then why'd you run out?"
"Because I wasn't keeping track. I said I'd buy some, but clearly, I forgot."
"Are you mad?"
I shoot a scowl at her. She erupts into giggles. She's been hitting me with a childish, taunting voice this whole time. "Hell yeah, I'm mad," I say, then laugh. I drag my hands over my face. It's a sorry attempt to erase my frustration. My dick is still rock solid with a naked goddess on top of me. "Fuck my life."
"People still say that?"
"Mir, why is this so funny to you?"
"Because it's cute. You really wanted to fuck me. Awwww." She squeezes my cheeks, shaking my head from side to side. "You look all depressed." As I consider jumping off my balcony, she tilts her head. "I mean ... I don't mind not using one if you have receipts of your status. Like recent receipts. I got tested two months ago but haven't been with anyone since."
I consciously try to hide my eagerness. "I got tested a month ago. And I've had sex since, but like I said, I always wrap up."
While I search my phone for my latest STD test, she smirks. "Except with me, apparently."
"I trust you won't try to trap me and that you take care of yourself," I say, handing her my phone.
She takes it, nodding as she confirms the results. "Healthy man, as I thought." She returns my phone. "I have an IUD. If I were to get pregnant, I'd be first in line at the nearest abortion clinic. So, yeah, I'm not going to trap you. I have my own money."
It feels like everything about her is tailor-made just for me, from her personality to her appearance to her mindset. I've been wondering when I'd experience a love like those songs Soul and I write. The lyrics of true romance might finally find their way into my life tonight.
Mir's touch works wonders, lathering my shaft and swiftly revitalizing my erection. She repositions herself, her hands on my shoulders as her knees rest near my hips. Before she lowers herself into a cowgirl position, she asks, "Are you sure? I've been told my pussy's addicting, and I've never let anyone go raw. So, you might just lose your mind."
"I'm already addicted to you. And I wanna get lost inside you." I cup her soft booty and squeeze. "So, giddy up, cowgirl."
"I'm about to take your fine ass to the rodeo. Hold on tight."
***
I never wrote a sex scene this soon in a book, LIKE WHOA. This is new to me, but I hope y'all are liking it. The next chapter's basically finished. Like and comment to get it sooner than next Sunday. :D Thank you for reading.
- Taylen (he/him)