Erik "Killmonger" Stevens Imagines

Two weeks had gone by since you'd been left looking like boobooo the damn fool, standing there with a body yearning for that enticingly vile man. Erik. That nigga really left you in a vulnerable state, completely disregarding how dangerous it was to leave you half naked on the treacherous streets of Harlem in the middle of the night.

You'd hurried home after that, cursing to yourself the entire way, because how in the hell did you manage to let him get you so caught up in your arousal, that you would've let him take you right then and there? You'd always thought so highly of your self-discipline, but he had you panting like a bitch for him.

He'd done it without much effort, made your will his own, and it was damn embarrassing to think about how easy you must seem now. Looking back on that, you were so glad his phone rang when it did, the look in his eyes told you he wouldn't have stopped until he indefinitely ruined you.

As much as you want to deny the effect he had on you, your panties were still uncomfortably wet when you finally made it home.

You could say that you were able to leave that dreadful encounter at the door when you entered your apartment, but the way you had hurriedly stripped off what little clothing you had on and fell back on your bed, fingers moving urgently between your legs, tells an unbelievably different story. You could swear all you want that you never want to see him again, but the way your orgasm ripped through your body that night as his cursed name left your lips in a pitifully loud yell, you'd just be making yourself out to be a damn liar.

You could absolutely go ahead and try to convince yourself that you've already forgotten him, but for these past weeks, the memory of his exquisitely hard face and sinfully deep voice have kept you on edge, and you've been scared to touch yourself because you know how quickly you'd fall into oblivion, happily screaming his name again.

You hadn't been back to your safe haven of a music store all this time, too apprehensive about running into him again and having him regain control over you with just a look from those perplexingly watchful brown eyes.

You've been taking alternate routes to your classes and to run errands. Not that you believe he could actually find you with the nonexistent information he had on you, but something was telling you not to underestimate a man like him, who was so clearly used to getting everything they set their sights on.

The sudden dimness of your computer screen brought you back to the present. You dedicate your weekends to getting homework done in advance of the coming week, but you'd all but given up on finishing your calculus problems when your thoughts once again strayed to Erik.

You were so mad at yourself for allowing him to be a distraction because you're pretty positive seeing him again is a long shot. The fact that a tiny whorish part of you actually wants to see him again infuriated you even more and you angrily pushed yourself away from your desk, vowing to force him out of your mind from here on out.

You made your way over to the window in your room that had a shitty view of the neighboring building, and you ended up just staring at your reflection against the dark, night sky. You'd taken your braids down earlier that day, and your densely coarse curls framed your face, still soft and springy from the coconut water deep conditioner you'd used before.

Your richly smooth skin was on display in baby pink crushed velvet shorts and a matching sports bra.

Used to living alone, and with as stuffy as your place gets in the summer, you hardly ever had many clothes on this time of year. You watched your supple lips form a dissatisfied frown; your mood was worsening by the second and you weren't sure the reason.

You purposefully overlooked the fact that you've been ignoring your "womanly needs" since that night.

Your turned away from the window and looked at the glowing digital numbers on the night stand.