The Pleasure Zone(55)

From that moment on, a bond between the two of them had formed, something scandalously decadent and disturbingly beautiful. Lamar had taught her things about who she was, who she thought she’d never become. He’d kept her dirty secrets. Had promised to take them to his grave with him.

And she owed him so much for that.

Still, sucking and fucking him was only meant to be a means to an end. A good fuck for a greater cause, until he helped her carry out her plan.

Destroying her husband Jasper. Blowing up stash houses, taking him for everything he was worth—millions. Lamar had been there every step of the way, willing to do whatever, whenever…for her.

Even covering up murders.

And in the end, she’d found love in her heart for him. And made a true friend.

Pasha swallowed back the painful memories…and the naked images of Lamar. Her past was bittersweet. But her present was full of blessings.

Nairobia cleared her throat. And when Pasha blinked her into view, she was staring back at her in the mirror, head tilted.

Pasha blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Nairobia raised a brow. “I was telling you about Lamar, my darling. How fascinating I find him.”

Pasha swallowed again. “Yes, that he is. Speaking of him, where is he?” It dawned on Pasha that she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since she’d referred him to Nairobia. She made a mental note to call him first chance she got.

“I traveled light this time,” Nairobia said. “I didn’t need my body guarded, so he has the next two days off, doing whatever fine hunks of man meat like him do.”

Pasha smiled. “Lamar’s a great guy. He’s loyal. And…”

“A delicious piece of chocolate,” Nairobia added, before allowing Pasha to finish her sentence. She lowered her voice. “Oh how I crave to taste him, to have him in my sheets.” She feigned embarrassment, placing a hand to her neck. “Oh my. How scandalous of me.”

Pasha almost choked on her spit. “Ohmygod, Nairobia! You’re a mess.” She laughed.

“No, my love. I am a woman who knows what she wants. I take what I want. I demand my own pleasure, my darling. And I deny myself nothing. And I am sure you have not either, no?” She gave Pasha a knowing glance.

Pasha smiled, but said nothing. She tilted Nairobia’s chair back, placing her head under the spigot, then began running water through her hair. “You do know,” she hedged, moving the conversation away from Lamar, “you don’t have to fly way out here just to have your hair done. My salon in Jersey is right across the water and…”

Nappy No More II was nothing like the salon and spa Pasha owned back on the East Coast. Nairobia had never stepped foot inside of that particular establishment, but she’d heard through the grapevine that that location catered to the hood trash and ghetto-fabulous, the wannabe divas and trap queens.

Pasha was a doll. And came highly regarded in the hair industry as one of the world’s top stylists. But Nairobia never would have stepped foot inside her salon if she catered to that element here, too.

Nairobia’s lashes rapidly fluttered. “Oh, no, no, my darling. As wonderful as I’m sure your other salon is, I am sure it doesn’t cater to the same clientele as the one here does.”

Pasha chuckled. “It has its moments. It’s a more eclectic mix.”

Nairobia heard the translation in her head: street trash with light coin. She pursed her lips. “And I, my darling, require a more—how do I say?—homogeneous experience. I need to be surrounded by good coins.”

Pasha laughed, applying shampoo and lathering up her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. “Point taken.” Pasha pushed a digital button on the arm of the chair, and, within seconds, the chair came alive, vibrating and pulsing.

Nairobia moaned as Pasha’s fingers tantalized her scalp. “Mmm, yes, my darling, yes…that feels good. Your fingers are delectable. This chair is orgasmic.” She closed her eyes, and moaned again. “I’ll fly to the heavens and back for such treatment, my darling.”

Pasha smiled wide. She loved catering to her wealthy clients. Loved giving them her personal touch. Hell, she’d massage their feet; maybe even lick their toes if it kept them coins coming in heavy. Nappy No More II had been open for two years now, and had already grossed nearly $5 million, thanks to the personal and attentive care paired with her highly talented styling team committed to providing one-of-a-kind service to her salon’s exclusive clientele.

Nairobia had been coming to the salon since its grand opening, and she was a loyal customer who had no problem paying top dollar to look her best. She also tipped extravagantly and had graciously referred several of her wealthy friends—including a few porn stars, her way. So Nairobia would always get the red carpet treatment.