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10:17 PM, SATURDAY | DAYVON'S HOUSE | CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
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JAYDA DANCED AROUND HIS KITCHEN as music blared from the beats pill. She was happy to cook them dinner as Von sat at the kitchen table, just smoking, scrolling on his phone, and watching her little hips swirl.
His shirt would come up every once in a while and give him a view of the white, lace panties she had on, her ass cheeks spilling from them.
Von liked this. He felt domesticated for some reason.
"It smells good, baby."
Jayda put the lid on the pot, a big smile on her face as she danced to Nicki Minaj, Highschool. She listened to secular music, which she knew was wrong, but she tried to at least listen to the clean version.
She felt as though your music taste couldn't determine your values, morals, or character. Listening to that type of music didn't make her any less loving to God.
"Anyway, I felt him, helped him, put him on lock, seat belt him-" Jayda wrapped, swirling her hips as she made her way over to Von, who smiled at her softly.
She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, seeing he was on Instagram. "It should be done in another 15, Vonny."
"Don't call me dat soft ass shit." Dayvon scrunched his face up, although his stomach tingled at the nickname.
She kissed his cheek. "I can call you whatever I want, cause you are mine."
"Never been dat."
Jayda pouted, unwrapping her arms from his neck, but he laughed, turning around and grasping her by her waist and between his legs.
"I was just playin, folks. You know I'm yo nigga."
"I don't know that." Jayda shrugged, "Mr. Perfume."
He kissed his teeth. "You finna hang onto the past?"
