I stood outside MJ's apartment door, hand raised to press the doorbell, my pulse already thrumming like a bassline in a club.
Well, fuck me, I was here now, cock already half-hard just from the anticipation.
The city noise of Queens faded behind me—honking cabs, distant sirens—as I focused on that door, imagining what waited on the other side.
MJ had a way of turning a simple booty call into something electric, something that left me aching for more even after I'd come down from the high... of course, I always returned the favor.
I pressed the button, the faint chime echoing from inside like a teasing whisper.
Silence followed.
Then, that soft click—the lock disengaging, but the door stayed shut.
No swing open, no eager greeting.
Instead, I heard footsteps—light, deliberate—moving away from the door, retreating deeper into the apartment.
What the hell?
My eyebrow arched, a smirk tugging at my lips.
Classic MJ—always the actress, always setting the stage for her little games.
She knew how to hook me, how to get my blood boiling.
I grabbed the handle, feeling the metal under my palm, and pushed the door open, stepping into her world.
The first thing that hit me was the lighting.
It wasn't her usual setup—the harsh overhead bulbs that washed everything in sterile white.
No, tonight the room was bathed in a soft, ambient glow, dim and shifting between deep, sultry red and violet hues that cast long, seductive shadows across the walls.
It came from those cheap LED strips she'd probably ordered online, taped along the baseboards and the edges of her bookshelves, turning her cramped Queens apartment into something out of a high-end burlesque show.
The air felt thicker, warmer, charged with that electric hum of anticipation.
It was deliberate, intimate, and filthy in the best way—designed to make every curve, every inch of skin pop under the colored light.
My cock twitched harder, straining against my jeans as I shut the door behind me with a quiet click, locking us in.
And then I saw her.
Fuck me, did I see her.
MJ stood dead center in the living room, hands planted on her hips like she owned the goddamn stage, a smirk playing on those full, kissable lips that screamed she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
She was a vision in that leopard-print mesh babydoll—sheer as sin, clinging to her body like it was painted on, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
The fabric was translucent, a flimsy veil that teased every filthy detail: the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the way her full tits strained against the thin material, nipples already hard and poking through like they were begging for my mouth.
Thin spaghetti straps barely held the whole thing up, the plunging neckline diving low enough to show off the valley between her breasts, and the hemline?
It stopped just below her hips, short enough to flash the matching leopard G-string underneath—a tiny scrap of fabric that did fuck-all to hide how wet she probably already was.
Her red hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in wild waves, catching the red-violet light and making her look like some untamed goddess stepped out of my dirtiest dreams.
The mesh hugged her curves perfectly, the leopard pattern adding this animalistic edge that made my mind flash to all the ways I wanted to fuck her—pin her down, make her scream my name until her voice broke.
She wasn't just dressed; she was armed for seduction, every inch of her screaming come and take me.
My eyes raked over her body, from those long legs spread just wide enough to tease, up to her green eyes sparkling with mischief.
My cock went from half-hard to fully throbbing in seconds, pressing painfully against my zipper, blood rushing south so fast I felt a bit lightheaded.
Fuck, she was a masterpiece—pale skin glowing under the lights, freckles dusting her shoulders like stars, and that confident stance that said she knew she had me wrapped around her little finger.
I stopped dead in the doorway, frozen like a deer in headlights, my breath catching in my throat.
My hands itched to touch her, to rip that babydoll off and bury myself in her heat, but I held back, letting the tension build.
She saw it—the way my eyes darkened, the bulge in my jeans growing obvious—and her smirk widened, turning into that full, wicked grin that always made my control fray at the edges.
"You like it, Ti—" she started, her voice husky, laced with that teasing lilt she knew drove me wild.
I didn't let her finish.
Hell no.
Words could wait; I needed her now.
I crossed the room in three long, urgent strides, my boots thudding softly on the carpet, and grabbed her face with both hands, cupping her cheeks roughly as I crashed my lips into hers.
The kiss was hard, demanding, all tongue from the start—no gentle buildup, just pure, raw hunger.
She made a surprised sound—half-gasp, half-laugh bubbling up from her throat—but then she melted into it like she was made for this, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt as I backed her up toward the wall.
Her back hit it with a soft thud, the impact vibrating through her body into mine, and I immediately slid one hand to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her red hair to cushion it so she wouldn't bruise against the hard surface.
The other hand dropped from her face to her waist, then lower, grabbing a handful of her ass through the thin mesh—firm, round, perfect for squeezing.
I kneaded it hard, pulling her hips flush against mine so she could feel every inch of my rock-hard cock pressing into her belly.
She moaned into my mouth, the sound muffled but filthy, her body arching into me like she couldn't get close enough, her tits crushing against my chest.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue pushing past her lips without asking, tangling with hers in a messy, desperate dance that tasted like mint gum and her lingering lip gloss—sweet and addictive.
Her mouth was hot, wet, yielding to me as I explored every corner, sucking on her tongue, biting her lower lip just hard enough to make her whimper.
Her nails dug deeper into my shoulders, scratching through the fabric, and I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, her body already flushing under that sheer babydoll.
The leopard print felt rough under my palm as I squeezed her ass again, harder this time, lifting her slightly so her feet almost left the floor.
She ground against me instinctively, her hips rolling in that needy way that made my cock throb even harder, pre-cum probably already leaking into my boxers.
When I finally pulled back—just enough to breathe—a thin string of saliva connected our lips for a heartbeat before snapping, leaving her mouth glistening, swollen, and utterly fucked-out already.
She looked up at me with those half-lidded green eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, her chest heaving with each ragged breath, tits rising and falling under the mesh, nipples so hard they poked through like diamonds.
"Glad you could make it," she murmured, her voice breathy and low, laced with that post-kiss huskiness that always made me want to dive right back in. "Else I would've had to finger myself to your pictures. Slide my hand into these wet panties, circle my clit until I cum screaming your name all alone."
I smirked, my hand sliding down from her ass to the edge of her G-string, fingers brushing the damp fabric where it clung to her pussy lips.
Fuck, she was soaked already—I could feel the heat, the slickness seeping through.
"Oh?" I said, my voice gravel-rough as I teased the seam, dipping just under to graze her outer folds. "Well, you don't have to do that anymore. Not when I'm here to make this pussy drip for real."
I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear, hot breath fanning her skin as I whispered, "Your tiger's here to swallow you whole. To fuck you until you're a soaking mess, clenching around my cock."
She shivered violently, her breath hitching in her throat, a soft whine escaping as my fingers pressed a little harder, parting her slick lips through the G-string.
Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, more of that filthy promise.
I could smell her arousal now—musky, sweet, mixing with her perfume in the warm air—and it made my mouth water, my cock ache to be free.
But not yet.
This was about her, about drawing out every dirty sound, every tremble until she begged.
.....
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