The Pleasure Zone(9)

She was scantily sheathed in a diamond net mini-dress with a neckline that plunged below her navel and a slit that crawled up to her bare pussy with an open back to match, leaving nothing—and I do mean, nothing, to the imagination. She stood. Placed a hand on her hip, and slowly turned, giving everyone in the room an up close and personal view of her body. She had an ass like two basketballs, and men loved seeing it bounce. She was tempted to bend over, grab her ankles and make it shake in Marcel’s handsome face. But that would be tasteless. She was a lady, after all. Classy.

“Damn, baby,” Marcel said low and husky wiping fingers over his brow. “It’s getting hot in here. Yo, Tri-State, this beauty has ya boy sweating like crazy.”

She smiled, taking her seat. “I take that to mean you like, no?”

“Do I like?” He licked his lips. She was sure it was subconsciously done as his lusty gaze scanned her body again. She had that effect on many. “Yo, let’s just say you’re starting to awaken the beast.”

Her cunt clenched. “Mmm,” she purred, reaching over and running a manicured finger along the inside of his thigh. “And does this beast bite?” she teased.

Marcel let out a low groan. “Nah, nah, baby. As long as you’re petting it and keeping it wet, it’s good.” She gave him a knowing glance. And good it was. Her finger traced the length of his ever-growing cock. Then, before she wrapped her hand around the stretched fabric of his pants and groped it, she snatched her hand away—acutely aware of the audience in back of them, even though she loved being watched.

She feigned disappointment. “Too bad, my darling. Ik hou van zijn gebeten.” I love being bitten.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Damn, baby, there you go talking that sexy shit.” His crooked grin, followed by dimples, and a glint of mischief dancing in the pools of his eyes, had her slowly melting.

Damn him.

“Arrêtez d’essayer de me tourner.”

He told her in his smooth, honey-rich voice to stop trying to turn him on. Lucky for her—and to her world travels, she understood French. She smiled. “I’d never do anything you wouldn’t want done,” she confessed, flirting with the fantasy of a good fucking.

“Aiight, aiight. I heard that,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t tempt me. Word up, yo. But before I get sidetracked wit’ tryna chain you to this desk ‘n’ having my way with you, let’s jump right into tonight’s interview.”

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, let’s.”

“Aiight. You’ve modeled. You’ve done porn. You’ve graced the covers of magazines. You’ve written two best sellers. You’ve created your own sex toy line…” Nairobia nodded as he listed her accomplishments. “And now you’ve opened your very own club in Manhattan. Tell us about it.”

“Yes, my darling. I am a woman of many talents…” She shifted in her seat. Uncrossed her legs, spreading them open, teasingly, then closing them, crossing her legs at the ankles, revealing her thigh, and the whole side of her soft, bouncy ass.

Marcel struggled to keep focused. Struggled to keep from fucking her right here, right now. Nairobia saw the hunger in his eyes and wondered how long it’d been since he’d plunged his colossal dick into some pussy. Good pussy.

Before Marika’s death, she would have spread open her thighs and welcomed him inside her wet, silky walls, while her mouth made love to his wife’s clit, her tongue sinking into her cum-sodden cunt.

But, now…?

So much had changed.

She’d changed.

He’d changed.

Those clandestine encounters between the three of them were now bittersweet memories to be tucked away, and savored.

Marika was gone. Dead.

Still…

She fought from rocking her hips in abandon as the memory of him sucking her engorged nipples, one at a time, between his lips, into the waiting heat of his mouth; his wet tongue lashing, his teeth grazing each—

Marcel cleared his throat, pulling her from her lustful reverie.

She shifted in her seat. Crossed her right leg over her left.

Their gazes met and, in that moment, she imagined him standing. Then unzipping his pants to drag the heavy length of his cock out, it straining toward her own waiting, hungry mouth. She could almost taste the sweetness of his semen on her tongue.

Almost.

A moan caught in the back of her throat as she swallowed down the thought of him flooding her mouth with nut. Her leg bounced over her knee in a failed attempt at cutting off the budding ache between her thighs.

Marcel parted his lips to speak. But she didn’t, she wouldn’t, allow it. “The Pleasure Zone, my darling, is a club like no other,” she said, her tone coated with the slightest hint of her Danish and African ancestry—her mother was Dutch, her father Nigerian. “It’s an ultra-chic, upscale, private, For Adults Only club, where hedonistic desires unfold under one lavish roof.”