Yes, yes, yes. Nairobia could attest to his delicious dick strokes and toe-curling tongue licks. And truth to be told, he was almost as good as his fraternity brother and best friend, Marcel. Almost.
She allowed herself a moment to indulge the memory. She’d invited him to her villa in Milan during the 2014 Fashion Week. No questions were asked. The intent was clear. The two of them fucked each other breathlessly, like two sex-starved teenagers, until sunrise. And then came an early morning romp of pussy eating, his tongue laving her lust-filled clit, her cum-soaked cunt, and all over her succulently wet lips, followed by an exquisite ass fucking. “Me in mijn kont neuken,” she’d told him. Yes, she wanted it in her ass. And he’d given it to her. He’d fucked her hard because she’d wanted it, demanded it, every controlled thrust bursting with heat and power.
“Neuk me!” she’d urged over and over. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…!”
And he’d done just that, releasing his warm, milky load into his condom, still stroking slowly into the heat of her willing, wanting ass until her muscles relentlessly squeezed his dick, and he plopped out.
That night he’d obliged her libido, owned her body, with a hard, thick dick, emptying his cum-filled sac until there was nothing left of him to give. She had been fully satiated when she slid out of her sheets, her anus still humming from the deep fucking, and walked him to the door.
He had wanted her number. But she’d kissed him on the lips instead, then shut the door in his face; a grin painted on her swollen lips from the kissing and heavy dick sucking she’d done.
She smiled.
A mix of Native-American, Italian, and African, Nairobia knew if she dared to let the three-time Grammy-award-winning heartthrob soak the inside of her eggs the way he had his condom, they’d make some beautifully exotic-looking babies together.
She felt a pool of heat building in her stomach, then washing over her uterus.
“Damn, it’s so good to see you, baby,” Carlos said. And just as he stepped in to wrap Nairobia in his arms, her bodyguard appeared from out of nowhere and slid one long, thick arm between them, pushing him back.
“Nah, fall back, playboy,” the bodyguard growled.
Lamar was new to Nairobia’s security detail, and had come highly recommended by Pasha. The day after Nairobia had spoken to her, Lamar had come in for an interview, dressed in black, and looking every bit of intimidating, menacing, and, oh so, deliciously intoxicating.
This was his first day on the job. And so far Nairobia was highly impressed. Sure she could have flown in the confined comforts of her luxurious private jet, but she needed to see how this chocolate Mandingo handled the controlled chaos that oftentimes swirled up around her, like this very moment.
Men ogled her. Women eyed her slyly. Cell phones snapped pictures to capture the moment, while heads turned to take in the back of her luscious ass as she sauntered through the airport wearing—over a black Brazilian thong with two-strand diamond chains which wrapped around her hips—a very short, black crochet net dress with a halter silhouette and cutout sides. The hundred thousand-dollar dress, as with the majority of her couture, left many mouths agape…and drooling.
Sure there were some women who sneered and rolled their eyes at her as she passed by. A few even held on to their men, or narrowed their eyes at him as Nairobia moseyed by. But to hell with them! She had no interest in their men.
She almost laughed.
Insecure, that’s what they were. They were a bunch of narrow-minded bitches, who more than likely needed a good fuck to loosen them up.
“Can we help you?” her bodyguard said, his steely gaze fixed on Carlos.
“Nah, playboy,” Carlos said sarcastically, sizing him up. “It’s all love over here, Hercules. Nairobia’s my peoples.” Carlos kept his glare locked on the six-foot-four, dread-wearing bodyguard. Carlos was a pretty boy, but he was far from soft when it came to knuckling up.
“Now, now, my love,” Nairobia cooed, touching the beefy hunk’s muscled arm. “Play nice. Carlos is a dear acquaintance of mine.”
Lamar grunted, then sized Carlos up. “Oh, aiight.” He stepped back, but stayed near and kept his eyes locked on Carlos behind a pair of three-hundred-dollar sunglasses.
Nairobia’s bodyguard was rugged and thuggish, cocky and slightly arrogant, yet when he’d interviewed for the job, he knew how to articulate himself in a professional manner. She liked that about him. She found his swagger enticing. And, aside from the fact that he had a broad nose, smooth, dark-chocolate skin, and thick lips, she imagined he also had a thick, long, strong tongue and a big juicy cock to match the set of thick long fingers on his hands.