💋💦Between Zinc & Sin🔥(18+ Reading) EsSense Of Ebony Books

Kriss and Tash grew up together behind zinc fences and whispered moans. Their bond? Unbreakable. Their secrets? Untamed. But when love, lust, and loyalty collide, the tenement yard might never sleep again.

Between Zinc & Sin — a Black erotic short story by Ebz Dixon.

“Sex. Lies. And a social media scandal.”

CHAPTER ONE: “STOLEN WINE & SINFUL THINGS”

Barbican, Kingston. 3:14 AM.

The Birkin was real. Kriss could tell by the weight, the hardware, the buttery leather that felt like it had never touched poor people air. It was in her hand now—swinging wild as she bolted across the manicured Barbican lawn, breasts bouncing, mouth dry with panic and arousal.

“TASHANE!” she hissed. “Mi cyaan believe yuh lef mi in deh like dat!”

Tash was ahead, barefoot and mad, holding up her dress and her dignity with the same trembling hand. Wig halfway off, lipstick smudged like a crime scene. Her laugh was unhinged.

"Mi tell yuh fi come down when mi text yuh, but no—yuh deh up inna people bed like yuh a housewife!”

Flashback: 2 Hours Earlier – Inside the Barbican Townhouse

It was the kind of place that smelled like jasmine oil and clean money. Tall ceilings. Air conditioning that made Kriss’s nipples stay at full attention. Every surface looked like it belonged on a Pinterest board curated by a light-skinned influencer who said “melanin queen” but never tipped darkskin waitresses.

The woman of the house? She was everything Tash had been warned about: tall, browning, with a snake tattoo sliding down her back and a mouth full of golds and lies. Her name was Camille. Said she owned three spas, one "energy healing" business, and had a husband who didn't “really mind what she did” when he was overseas.

But Kriss knew the game.

What she didn’t expect was how good Camille was at playing it.

They were upstairs in the guest bedroom—soft music playing, the door slightly ajar. Camille had been feeding her compliments all night, then wine, then her fingers. It happened fast: first a kiss, then a tongue, then Kriss bent over the edge of a white leather chaise lounge, moaning low into a silk pillow while Camille licked slow, expert circles like she’d studied Kriss’s body before they even met.

And Lord—Kriss let her. Legs wide. Eyes shut. Every nerve on fire.

“Yuh sweet, baby,” Camille purred. “Mi could eat yuh every night and still dead fi hungry…”

Kriss arched, gripped the sheets, bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

“You ever been owned, gyal?” Camille asked.

But the answer never came—because downstairs, Tashane had kicked over a wine glass trying to sneak one of the decorative purses off the living room shelf.

And just like that—BOOM.

A man’s voice shouted from the kitchen:

“Camille? Wah di bloodclaat a gwaan?!”

Back to Present

Kriss hit the ground in a squat behind a hedge, her thighs still twitching from the orgasm she hadn’t finished.

“Mi nearly buss inna the people house and yuh out deh tiefin bag?”

Tash spun around, wild-eyed. “Mi nuh tell yuh fi go suck out the people wife tongue like yuh in love! Yuh was upstairs a romance di woman and mi deh down deh dodging laser security!”

Kriss fumed. “Mi wouldn’t haffi romance har if yuh did just let me go New Kingston and done!”

They glared at each other under the full moon, adrenaline mixing with sweat and sexual tension that hadn’t cooled yet. Tash’s dress was clinging to her like sin, and Kriss’s panties were halfway down one thigh, soaked.

“Yuh still wet?” Tash asked suddenly, eyes narrowing.

Kriss raised a brow. “Yuh waan check?”

For a moment, everything was still.

Tash took a step forward, hands on hips. "Yuh know mi shoulda buss yuh lip fi almost get wi caught... but all now mi cyaan stop picturing yuh pon that white settee, face down, ass up."

Kriss smiled, sly and wicked. “Yuh jealous?”

Tash came closer, nose to nose. “Mi curious.”

Then—the horn. A battered Probox rolled up slow and low, bassline vibrating the ground. Demar leaned out the window, dreadlocks in a net, eyes red like wrath.

“Mi cyaan keep rescuing unnu dutty gyal every week,” he muttered.

Kriss slid in the back seat. Tash followed, still adjusting her wig. The door slammed. The car peeled off.

No one spoke for a minute. Then Tash turned around in the seat.

“So… yuh keep the dildo?”

Kriss held up the gift bag with a sly grin. “Hell yes.”

CHAPTER TWO: “Credit Fi Di Pum Pum”

Tenement Yard, Kingston – 6:45 AM.

Morning in the yard was chaos wrapped in routine—pots clanging, gospel on the radio, Baby Shabba bawling over dry Cornflakes. But Kriss wasn’t hearing any of it. She was pacing barefoot in her room, her towel barely clinging to her hips, body still trembling from the madness of last night.

Tash was outside already, pretending like she hadn’t just changed the whole damn game with that kiss, with that touch. She stood by the clothesline wringing out a pair of neon thongs, skin glistening with oil, acting like she didn’t own every inch of Kriss’s mind right now.

Kriss hissed under her breath, peeking through the slatted window. “Bitch know exactly what she doing,” she muttered, pressing her thighs together like that would silence the ache.

But this wasn’t new. No. This had started long before that sweaty night in the guesthouse uptown. The first taste? That came at seventeen—when things first got… different.

FLASHBACK: When Kriss and Tash Were 17

Kingston. Tenement Yard. One Summer Night.

The fan was broken again. Kriss was in her room trying to sleep in the heat, her sheets tangled between her legs, sweat dripping between her breasts. The sounds of the yard floated in—the dominoes slamming, somebody arguing about rice, a baby screaming in the distance.

She was wearing her favourite old tank top—no bra, no panties—just skin on cotton. She kept fidgeting, her hand sliding between her thighs without thinking, like it had a mind of its own. She wasn’t thinking about any boy.

She was thinking about her.

Tash.

The way she chewed ice with those pretty pink lips. The way her waist looked when she bent over to wash clothes at the pipe. The way she always touched Kriss a little too long, stared a little too hard.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Then the door creaked open.

“Tash?” Kriss whispered, sitting up fast.

Tash slipped in like smoke—barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt that barely covered her ass. The yard lights flickered behind her like something out of a music video.

“Mi cyaan sleep,” she said. “It too hot.”

Kriss’s mouth went dry. She could see the outline of Tash’s nipples through the shirt. Could smell the mango lotion on her skin.

Tash closed the door. Locked it.

Kriss’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Yuh mad? Suppose Mommy hear?”

Tash grinned. That wicked, slow grin that always meant trouble. “She gone Lotto centre since evening. Mi watch her tek di taxi.”

Silence.

Then Tash walked over, slow, hips swaying like she knew Kriss was watching.

“Yuh was thinking 'bout mi just now, eh?” Tash asked, voice barely a whisper.

Kriss swallowed hard, her thighs tightening under the sheet. “No.”

“Liar.”

Tash pulled back the sheet. Kriss didn't stop her. Couldn’t. Her body had already given up the fight.

Tash’s eyes raked over her like a hunger. “Yuh always so soft,” she murmured, fingers dragging along Kriss’s inner thigh. “Yuh remember di first time mi see yuh touch yuhself? Yuh thought mi was sleeping, but mi watch yuh from mi window…”

Kriss’s breath caught. Her whole body was on fire. “Tash…”

“Shh.” Tash leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, with all the heat of a Kingston summer night.

It wasn’t innocent. It wasn’t new. It was years of glances, touches, and whispers bursting out in one slow, filthy, hungry kiss.

Their bodies tangled in the sheets, Kriss’s back arching as Tash’s mouth travelled down her stomach, her thighs. She moaned loud—too loud—and they both froze, listening.

Then laughter. Tash giggled into Kriss’s skin. “Babe… yuh better hush if yuh don’t want Mavis next door fi come knock down di damn door.”

But Kriss couldn’t hush. Not when Tash’s tongue slid lower. Not when the heat exploded behind her eyes. Not when she came, legs shaking, heart pounding like a bassline.

That night, Kriss tasted the danger. The pleasure. The way Tash moved like a storm inside her. They didn’t talk about it after. Just walked around the yard the next day like nothing happened. But their bodies remembered. Always did.

Back to Present – 6:55 AM

Kriss stepped out into the yard, hair up in a bun, skin still dewy from her cold shower in a sundress. Tash glanced over, licking her bottom lip slow, letting her eyes roam.

“Morning,” she said, all innocence.

Kriss didn’t respond. She just leaned in as she passed, brushed her hand lightly across Tash’s lower back, and whispered:

“Tonight. Mi door open. Don’t knock.”

Tash stood still for a moment. Then smiled to herself.

Yuh see, some credit? You never really pay it off.

CHAPTER THREE: “Mi Pum Pum Nuh Have Conscience”

Friday Night – Clock Tower, Half-Way-Tree.

Kriss and Tash moved like sin dressed up in battyriders. Hot pink for Kriss. Snake print for Tash. Lip gloss glistening, hips swinging with purpose as they stepped off the coaster bus and into the humid buzz of the city night.

They weren’t just going out—they were on display.

Uptown girls tried. But they could never move like ghetto gyal with real body, real vibe, real heat.

As they crossed over to the plaza to grab a box juice before heading to the party at Susie’s rooftop, a matte black Audi pulled up slow beside them.

Inside: a man watching from behind dark tints. Arm resting casual on the wheel. Dior cologne floating out his window like promise.

“Gyal like unuh must be imported,” he said, voice deep, slight UK accent. “Which parish manufacture that kinda shape?”

Tash sucked her teeth and didn’t break stride. “Yuh come chat shit or buy juice?”

But Kriss’s eyes flicked to him. Something about the way he sat… that watch… that scar above his brow. It clicked.

“Zion?”

The man leaned out. Smirked.

“Mi did know it was yuh. Kriss from Waterhouse, right? Yuh grow up fine, star. Finer than mi even remember.”

Kriss blinked. She hadn’t seen Zion since that Cherry Gardens party two years ago—where they flirted by the bar, and he whispered the filthiest things in her ear, but she disappeared before he could collect.

He was back now. And he looked like money, gym, and sex.

“Where unuh heading?” he asked, licking his lips slow.

Tash jumped in quick. “Nowhere yuh need to know. Yuh cute, but yuh still a man. Man don’t get location.”

Zion laughed, eyes still on Kriss. “When yuh ready fi show mi where heaven deh, mi wi wait.”

Kriss didn’t smile. She just tilted her head and walked off, hips speaking in tongues. But inside? Her core was buzzing.

Later That Night – Kriss’s Room

Tash showed up just after midnight.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t have to.

Kriss was already laid out, a thin white sheet covering her curves, nipples hard under her vest, legs spread just enough to show no panties were present.

Tash locked the door behind her and stepped out of her sandals. Her body glistened from the sweat of dancing and the ride on the bike taxi.

“Yuh really left mi fi wine up pon strange man dem whole night,” she said, walking over. “But mi know say yuh did want mi to come home horny.”

Kriss grinned. “Yuh tek bait easy. Now come get yuh punishment.”

Tash didn’t need a second invite.

She climbed up, straddled Kriss’s waist, and pulled the vest up with her teeth, exposing soft, brown breasts glistening in candlelight. Her tongue circled Kriss’s nipple slowly before she bit down—just enough to make Kriss gasp.

“You wet already?” Tash murmured. “All from mi just touch yuh?”

Kriss wrapped her hand in Tash’s braid and yanked her closer. “Mi stay wet when mi know seh yuh coming.”

The sheet was gone now, kicked to the side. Tash slid her hand down, fingers parting folds like she knew them by name. Kriss’s back arched, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Tash’s fingers moved in tight, wet circles, rhythm building with purpose. Then she slipped two inside, knuckles deep, curling slow. Kriss bit into her own shoulder to keep from screaming.

But Tash wasn’t finished.

She slid down—tongue licking a trail from Kriss’s belly button down to her centre, where she buried her face with hunger. She sucked, flicked, tasted every drop. Kriss’s thighs clenched around her head, her hands tangled in sheets, whimpers spilling out like confession.

Then Tash flipped her.

Face down, ass up.

Spanked her. Once. Then again. Kriss yelped.

“Yuh don’t run from mi,” Tash growled, grabbing her hips.

She dipped her fingers back in, fast, then slow, teasing. Then her tongue joined again, licking from back to front, sloppy and bold.

Kriss came hard—shaking, crying out into the mattress, legs giving out under her.

Tash didn’t stop.

She climbed on top this time, rubbed herself against Kriss’s slick thigh, grinding until her own orgasm ripped through her like gunshot in a silent lane.

When they collapsed, sweaty and breathless, Kriss whispered, “Mi cyaan go outside tomorrow. Mi cyaan walk good…”

Tash giggled, still panting. “Good. Stay inside. Belong to mi.”

But as Kriss drifted off, Zion’s face flashed behind her eyelids.

His voice.

His hands.

Her body clenched again.

Tash didn’t see the smirk that crept across her lips in the dark.

CHAPTER FOUR: “Mi Nuh Tek Check – Unless It Come Wid Tongue”

Sunday – Brunch Vibes Uptown, Papine Hills.

The invite came via DM. A sleek flyer with gold writing:

‘Mimosa Sundayz – Rooftop Ting – Invite Only’

Kriss didn’t remember following the page, but the sender? @ZionInTheFlesh.

Caption read:

“Mi know yuh taste expensive. Bring that body come feed it. Front row table. Mi spot yuh.”

Tash didn’t like it one bit.

"Kriss, mi nah lie—this Zion boy sound like him full of himself and stds."

Kriss grinned. “Mi still going.”

So she did.

The Scene – Rooftop, 2PM.

Sun blazing. Hookah swirling. Skinny girls in Fashion Nova sitting cross-legged like they trained for it. DJs spinning Afrobeats, Soca, then straight into 90s Dancehall. Waitresses in mesh tops delivering bottles like they was oxygen. The vibe was bougie, yardie, and batty-rider friendly.

Kriss stepped out the Uber and jaws dropped. Gold mesh dress, no bra, nipples greeting the sun like church. Fresh pedicure, bamboo earrings, skin buttered down in raw coconut oil. She wasn’t here to be modest. She was here to remind everyone why yard gyal stay undefeated.

Zion was already watching from his section. Lounging on a white leather couch, sipping champagne straight from the bottle, Rolex gleaming like sin.

She walked past, slow. Didn’t even look his way.

He licked his lips and leaned forward.

"Mi know seh di pum pum warm, but it look like it got attitude too."

Kriss glanced at him over her shoulder. "It come wid standards."

30 Minutes Later – Inside the Rooftop Bathroom

Kriss had just finished adjusting her lip gloss when the door creaked. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t need to. The scent of Dior Sauvage gave it away.

“Zion…”

“Mi couldn’t wait.”

The lock clicked. In two strides, he was behind her. Pressed up close. His palm slid across her lower back, down to her ass, grabbing it like he had claim.

“You see this dress?” he murmured. “It disrespectful. Every man out there watching. Mi feel violence inna mi spirit.”

Kriss sucked her teeth, heart thudding. “Then do sumn 'bout it nuh?”

He spun her fast, pressed her against the sink, and kissed her hard. His mouth tasted like champagne and bad decisions. She bit his lip, tugged his chain, hiked up her dress in one go.

No panties. Zion nearly lost his mind.

“Yuh come outta yuh house like this?” he asked, voice breaking.

She smirked. “Mi live inna tenement yard. Panty optional.”

He dropped to his knees like prayer. Lifted one leg over his shoulder and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue moved like it studied her. Slow, fast, flick, suck, then slow again.

Kriss gripped the sink. “Zion…”

“Shh. Mi come fi collect mi blessings.”

She came. Hard. Head thrown back, moaning loud, leg shaking.

He stood up, face glistening with satisfaction. Pulled out his piece—it was thick, veiny, and heavy like ambition. He rubbed it along her folds, teasing her entrance, looking into her eyes.

“Mi still can’t believe yuh neva give mi this from time…”

Then he slid in.

Raw.

One stroke.

Kriss nearly screamed.

He bent her over the sink, hand gripping her throat gently, hips slapping into her like a bassline. The mirror fogged. Her lip gloss smeared. Their moans tangled with the echo of Mavado playing faintly outside.

When she came again, Zion did too—deep, shuddering, biting her shoulder to muffle his groan.

They stood there, dripping, breathing heavy, her leg still twitching.

Zion kissed her neck. “Yuh wicked, yuh know…”

Kriss turned around, fixed her dress, and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah. And mi just getting started.”

Later That Evening – Voice Note to Tash:

“Sis… if yuh hear wah mi do inna dat rooftop bathroom… Jesus haffi wash mi tongue.”

CHAPTER FIVE: “Post Di Clip, But Know Who Buss Yuh First”

Tash didn’t even need to press play.

The thumbnail alone told her everything:

Kriss bent over a luxury marble sink, cheeks spread like sunrise, mesh dress barely clinging to skin.

Zion—shirtless, chain glinting—fist tangled in her weave, drilling her like he built her.

No caption. Just three emojis: peach, water splash, flame.

The views?

Already at 62K.

The comments? Vile, thirsty, and explosive.

“Yow a which OnlyFans dis?!”

“Shorty nuh normal…”

“If mi girl move like dis, mi woulda tattoo har name pon mi chest.”

“Zion eat the whole cake den bruk it off!”

Tash’s thumb hovered over the volume button, but her chest tightened. She knew that sound already. She knew what Kriss sounded like when her legs were shaking and she was trying not to cry from pleasure.

Because Tash made her sound like that first.

Not just once. But for years.

Behind zinc fences. In the back room. Under the laundry line. In silence. In secret.

But never like this.

Never for the world to see.

Never for a man.

She dropped her phone on the bed like it was hot coals and just sat there. Drenched in sweat. Skin flushed. Heart pounding.

Then she stood.

Barefoot. Braless. Pissed.

She didn’t knock.

Didn’t call out.

She pushed open Kriss’s front door like she owned it.

Kriss looked up from her mirror. Lipgloss half-applied. Skin glowing like she just stepped out of a damn music video.

“Tash…”

Tash raised one brow. “Mi see yuh gone viral.”

Kriss paused, mirror still in hand. “Mi didn’t know him a record. Swear pon mi life.”

“Stop lie.”

“Tash—”

“Camera set. Good lighting. You look inna it two times. Mi count it.”

Kriss opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Tash stepped forward, chest rising. “After everything we share? Yuh couldn’t even warn me? Not even a heads-up? Yuh just out here bussing it wide open fi uptown man, while me a scroll and catch heart attack?”

Kriss lowered the mirror. “Mi mess up.”

“You damn right.”

Silence.

Tash looked her up and down. That body was glistening. Still humming from pleasure. Still marked by Zion’s hands.

And still so, so familiar.

“You remember when we was 17? Mi first lick you under pon yuh granny bed. Yuh was trembling like a leaf. Say you never knew a gyal tongue could mek yuh cum like that.”

Kriss swallowed. “Tash…”

Tash stepped even closer.

“You remember that night di rain drop, and we sneak out to the outdoor bathroom, and yuh sit pon mi face like yuh born to do it?”

Kriss’s breath caught.

“Yuh ever show him how yuh like yuh nipples sucked ‘til yuh leg cramp?”

Kriss said nothing. Eyes lowered. Lip trembling.

Tash walked up, slow, until their breaths touched. “Answer mi.”

Kriss whispered, “No.”

“Then why yuh tek him inna yuh body like him own it?”

Kriss looked up. Something broke behind her eyes. “Because mi was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending mi don’t want to be touched out loud. Zion—he don’t ask questions. He just tek.”

Tash’s jaw tightened.

“Yuh want tek?” she said.

She grabbed Kriss’s waist and spun her, hard.

Kriss gasped, but didn’t resist.

Tash kicked the bedroom door shut. The thud echoed.

She pushed Kriss onto the bed. Flat. Face down. Ass up.

Pulled up her dress.

No panties.

The girl was glistening.

“Still wet?” Tash hissed. “So yuh still hot fi di same tongue yuh left behind?”

Kriss moaned. Soft. Guilty. Hungry.

Tash spat in her palm, reached into her bag under the bed, and pulled out the same thick strap they’d hidden for years.

The first strap Kriss ever rode like a Harley.

“You want tek man? Lemme remind you who build you.”

She spit again. Rubbed it slow over Kriss’s lips. The lips below.

Kriss arched back, gasping.

Tash didn’t waste time.

She slid in. Deep. Brutal.

Kriss screamed into the pillow.

“Shhh,” Tash growled. “The people outtadoor gonna hear how yuh moan fi gyal.”

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Tash gripped Kriss’s throat, pulled her back into her chest.

“You see this?” she whispered in her ear. “This ain’t no influencer fantasy. This is yard gyal love. Real sweat. Real tears. Real ownership.”

Kriss shook beneath her.

“I made you,” Tash snarled. “Mi train yuh body like gym. Mi know which angle mek yuh cum in four seconds flat.”

She twisted her hips. Hit the spot.

Kriss broke.

Legs trembling. Mouth parted in a breathless gasp. Eyes rolled back like a woman possessed. Her nails clawed at the sheet, soaked through with the flood she couldn’t hold back.

The slickness between them made the rhythm obscene—each grind wetter, filthier, more desperate than the last. The double-ended strap kept them locked together, bound by the hips, by history, by heat.

Tash felt it too—her thighs trembling as the toy dragged against her sweet spot with every thrust. She leaned in, lips grazing Kriss’s ear as her hand slipped between them.

She found Kriss’s clit and rubbed it—fast, vicious, circular motions that made Kriss cry out like she was mourning and being born at the same time.

“Cum again,” Tash growled, voice hoarse. “Loud. Let the whole yard know seh mi name still echo inna yuh marrow.”

Kriss’s scream was primal. The kind of sound you make when your soul gets split in two and stitched back together with lust. Her body convulsed, waves of release crashing through her, dragging Tash over the edge right behind her.

They came together—legs locked, hips grinding, moans tangled in the humid air. Wet. Wild. Wordless.

When it was over, Tash collapsed on her chest. Breath sticky. Bodies slippery with sweat and squirt and everything they couldn’t say out loud.

Their breasts pressed together, heartbeats syncing again like they always did.

Kriss whispered, voice cracked and tender, “Mi sorry.”

Tash kissed the slope of her shoulder. Then her jaw. Then her mouth, slow and lingering.

“Post yuh clip,” she murmured. “Make yuh money. Just know—no matter who view it, no matter who ride yuh... mi still have the password to yuh soul.”