The Pleasure Zone(59)

It was a lie, of course. But Nairobia loved making men and women squirm. She slid her foot out of her Manolo and eased her foot up between Lenora’s legs. “Tell me, darling. Are your panties wet for me? Does your kut cry out to be filled with my fingers?”

Lenora choked on her drink, fluid shooting out from her mouth and nostrils. She coughed and slammed a hand to her chest. Satisfaction gleamed in Nairobia’s eyes as she sat back in her seat, letting go of her hand and watching the old bat choke. Nairobia eyed her as she snatched up her linen napkin and covered her mouth and nose.

Nairobia bit back a laugh as she slipped back into her heel, then stood and opened her Judith Leiber clutch. She pulled out a shiny black embossed card that resembled that of a credit card and said, “You need a night of hot, sweaty decadence, my darling. Let me help you unclog your loins.” She tossed Lenora the card. “The climax is on me.”

Shell-shocked, Lenora sagged in her chair and watched the sultry sway of Nairobia’s hips as she sauntered her way out of the restaurant, carefree and flamboyantly sexy, as more cameras flashed, leaving her with the bill.

And her hands curled into two tight fists beneath the tablecloth.

That slutty bitch!





TWENTY-THREE


Stepping out into the afternoon sun, Nairobia’s cell phone rang. She fished it out of her bag and picked it up immediately, thinking it might be one of the three interviewees she was scheduled to screen for membership into The Pleasure Zone. She figured one of the three would be calling her to cancel their appointment. Wouldn’t have been the first time someone got cold feet and wasn’t ready for the heat. So she almost expected it.

She frowned when she saw Marcel’s name as the incoming call. Why would he be calling her…now? Had she not already been generous with her time? Had she not allowed him to stir her loins and caress her clit with his fingers and tongue? Had she not allowed him to stroke himself into her juicy mouth with his cock? Had she not allowed him to fuck her deliciously numb?

So what could he possibly want with her now?

More of her—they always wanted more.

“I wanna see you again,” he said the minute she answered. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

Nairobia’s brow furrowed. What in the world was he up to? “As in a date?” she shrieked. God, she hoped not. She didn’t date. Never. Ever. She met for cocktails. Met for dinner. And met for a night of salaciousness. Dating was not in her DNA.

She sighed inwardly. “Or is this some sly way for you to have your way with me again?”

Marcel laughed. “Damn, baby. Would it be so wrong if I said I wanted both?”

She reached her shiny black Rolls-Royce and her driver tipped his hat as he opened the rear door. She slipped inside, then said as the driver shut the door behind her, “No, my darling, you’d be foolish to think I’d give you another night of stretching my kut out. It was a delicious treat, but—”

“I can still taste you,” he interrupted, husky and hot. Nairobia shivered from the memory of melting on his tongue. She could see him licking his lips, his eyes glimmering in heat. She could still feel his tongue sliding over her pussy lips. Oh how delectable he looked between her thighs.

Nairobia’s driver pulled away from the curb, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She caught his thick-lashed gaze and, subconsciously, licked her lips, causing him to quickly avert his eyes. Nairobia smiled. She liked him. Samson. She’d even considered being his Delilah, just for a night. Fuck him hot and dirty in the backseat of this car, or her Bentley. Oh, how she’d be his whore, his prostitute, for the night.

He walked like a man packing heat between those strong, long legs of his, signaling to all those watching that he was a man who knew how to use it, too.

Nairobia didn’t doubt it.

“Je veux plus chatte, baby,” Marcel spoke in French, pulling her from her lusty thoughts. Nairobia could almost feel the heat of his breath as he whispered those words—“I want some more pussy”—into her ear.

“You naughty man, you,” she cooed. “My kut is on holiday van al die grote lul.” (from all that big dick). “So no more pussy for you.”

Marcel laughed. “Was it not good?”

Mmm. Yes. Nairobia swallowed back the memory. She didn’t need the recollections heating her blood. She looked up at the rearview mirror and captured the eye of her driver again. It was then she caught the desire in his dark brown orbs, and knew she held the power to unleashing his hidden yearnings. She decided she’d extend him an invitation into The Pleasure Zone for a night of wickedness.

Nairobia slid him a seductive wink, then said to Marcel, “It was the sweetest torture, MarSell, my darling,” she admitted, remembering the feel of his lush, sensual mouth on her clit. “But I will not surrender to it, to you. Or to the delicious memory.”