“Yeah, aiight. That’s what I thought. But, word is bond, yo. Nairobia bad as hell, so I already know you beatin’ that thing up. On some real shit, I’d probably be tryna knock it down, too. No doubt.”
Lamar cringed, looking back over toward the entrance of the high-end store. “Yeah, you already know, playa.” Yeah, he’d fucked Nairobia good, at least that he wanted to believe. Yeah, she’d moaned. And her pussy—goddamn, that pussy—had flooded with warmth. She hadn’t faked that. Nah. Not possible. Yeah hell, he’d bust that shit down. But he still hadn’t been able to beat that shit down the way he’d been known to do with his shorties from around the way. This had been the third time he’d come fast, and hard. The shit wasn’t cool. And it was fucking with his ego. But he damn sure wasn’t about to tell his boy how the pussy was fucking up his whole stroke game. The shit was crippling.
And it was fucking with his head.
He took a deep breath. If Nairobia ever threw him the pussy again—all he needed was one more go at it, he knew he’d need to double-wrap and be smoked out if he really wanted to fuck her until she tapped out. But he didn’t need to worry about that now since he didn’t plan on fucking her again. He didn’t plan on having another moment of weakness. Three times was enough. So it was all good.
Now that he was single again, he’d be sure to keep his dick sucked and fucked to keep his balls on E.
Problem solved.
“But, yo, fam, I’m sayin’ though,” Mel said. “What’s good wit’ you ‘n’ shorty? Y’all still together?”
Lamar raised a brow. “Nah, son. I had to dead that.” He gave him the shortened version of why he and Lana were over, then glanced at his watch. What the fuck?! Yeah, he was getting paid well to stand outside and do nothing, but this shopping shit was getting ridiculous.
“Damn, man. Sorry to hear that.”
“Nah, man. Don’t be. I knew she wasn’t for me; I just didn’t have the heart to let her know it. Shit happens for a reason, feel me?”
“No doubt.”
Lamar swallowed as Nairobia finally walked out—her hair sliding down her back and blowing up in the wind, headed toward the car, empty-handed. Men stared at her as they walked by, their necks snapping to keep their eyes on her even as their feet moved. Women glanced her way, some amazed at her beauty; others sneering. Head up, Nairobia slung her hair unfazed by their burning gazes.
Lamar frowned, wondering where the hell her shopping bags were. But it wasn’t his concern so he returned to his call.
“Yo, I gotta bounce, fam, but I’ma hit you later.”
“Cool, cool. No doubt.”
“Bet—”
“And, yo…”
“Yeah, wasssup?” Lamar said, eyeing Nairobia as she stopped to take a photograph with a middle-aged couple.
“Try keepin’ ya dick in ya pants, muhfucka!”
The line disconnected as Nairobia reached the luxury vehicle. Lamar opened the back door for her. She smiled at him, then leaned in to him so only he would hear and said, “I’m so wet.”
She slid in, and pulled her designer shades over her eyes.
Shaking his head, his breath hissed. He felt himself growing excited at the thought of her wet pussy. Remembering oh so well how wet and juicy it could get. He shook the images, thinking of something less pleasant, like why the fuck she didn’t have shopping bags. She’d been inside for mad long, so what had she been doing all that time inside? Fucking? Was her pussy wet from being fucked in the back of the storeroom? Had she let some horny-ass salesman finger her? Was she laid out on some mink coat 69ing with some thirsty motherfucker?
With a muttered curse, Lamar closed his eyes for a split-second, and shook his head again. This shit was crazy. Try keepin’ ya dick in ya pants, muhfucka!
A moment longer, he groaned inwardly, finally easing into the car and shutting the door behind them. It was inexplicable, this burning urge that came over him every time he was near her.
Yeah, he was in way over his head, this time.
As he sat beside her he watched her from his peripheral vision. And all he could think about was the feel of her tight heat, and how her sweet pussy clutched and fluttered around him. Arousal splintered hot and fiercely through his body.
And then he felt it.
His dick swelling painfully hard.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“You still have not come to my club,” Nairobia said as she eyed Marcel. He sat across from her, cutting into his steak. They were having an early dinner. Not a date. She’d driven her own car. And he’d driven his. And now they sat, finishing up their meal, sharing a cozy table for two.