by L. A. Banks
Keith’s eyes popped open and he stared at her. He should have been hard by the time she’d sashayed her way across the room, but nothing, his cock wasn’t cooperating. He was as floppy as a dead fish on a mountain of ice.
Syrah, undaunted, unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his ankles. She eyed his limp cock and got down on her knees. “Well, let see what I can do to make my popsicle happy.”
Finally, she was going to suck him off.
Syrah leaned over and kissed his penis and ran her horny little tongue around the tip and down the side.
Nothing happened. Keith fought panic. Never in his life had he ever failed to come to life.
She cupped his balls in one hand and then guided his penis to her mouth with the other and sucked on him.
Not even a hint of stiffness. Goddamn Paloma, she’d broken his dick. Fuckin’ bitch!
Syrah stroked him. “Ain’t you happy to see me, little boy,” she crooned at his penis. She smiled at him revealing her gold grill with the sparkling wink of diamonds. She tugged on his penis, but it remained limp.
Keith’s eyes narrowed. Was she laughing at him? Keith was getting angry.
Paloma had gotten a good enough rise out of him. Why was he being denied now? All he wanted was the same pleasure he’d found with his wife. “Come on, girl, is this the best you can do?” He grabbed her hair and pushed her face into his groin.
Syrah struggled for a second and then shoved his hand away. “Shit, man, this ain’t my fault. Maybe you’re gettin’ old. Get you some blue pills.”
He growled at her. “I don’t need Viagra, bitch. I’m all man.”
Syrah stood and rolled her eyes. “Sure you are. When you get it up again call and I’ll come by to see it for myself.” She picked up her purse and headed toward the door.
Stunned, Keith didn’t know what to say. He’d never had a problem performing before. Syrah had to be at fault. She just wasn’t doing him right. He started massaging his penis but still nothing happened. Not his boy. Limp pecker couldn’t be happening to him. “Get back here,” he screamed after Syrah but all he heard was her cackling laughter and then the slam of the door.
He was alone with his limp dick.
Keith was on his fifth glass of cognac when the penthouse door opened. The volume on the big screen was low, so he heard Paloma humming to herself.
He wasn’t sure, but she sounded off key and a little rough. What had she been doing all night? That ticked him off. She was out having a good time and he was here suffering alone in the dark.
Checking his watch, he noticed the hands had stopped moving. One hundred and fifty grand for a Rolex and the damned thing just stopped working. He was going to call the jeweler who sold him this piece of shit and get a new one.
Rage coursed through him. He got up from the bed and put on his silk robe. He tied the sash as he walked out of the bedroom. He found Paloma in the kitchen making herself a cup of coffee.
“Where you been?”
She turned around and smiled sweetly at him. “I told you, I was spending the night at my mother’s. You look terrible. Are you ill?”
His mouth fell open. Sshe looked radiant. Her skin glowed with life. She shimmered. He couldn’t talk. A stirring in his groin brought him back to life.
Paloma walked over to him and put her hand on his forehead. “You don’t seem hot?”
His penis came to instant attention.
“Let me fix you some tea,” she said, “or would you like something to eat?”
He couldn’t talk as all the blood from his head had raced down to his crotch. He’d never remembered ever going from zero to raging boner with her before. His lips moved but nothing came out.
“Baby,” Paloma said, “are you okay?”
Keith clenched his fist. All he could think about was getting between her legs and relieving his ache.
Paloma stepped back and glanced down at him. “Oh, no wonder you can’t talk.” She laughed.
Keith couldn’t understand why he was so hot for her and he couldn’t even get it up for Syrah. This was too strange. All he wanted to do was have sex with his wife. “Paloma…”
“You want me to help you with that?” She slid her hand inside his robe and touched his rock-hard prick.
He nodded. He was on fire. If he didn’t get relief he was going to pop. Well, maybe not pop, but something traumatic was bound to happen.
Paloma led him to one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. The desire to fuck him was way strong. This time she wanted to see what she would get from the sex. But she wanted to be in control again.
She yanked the chair away from the table and turned it around, then she shoved him down. They were going to do it in the kitchen, in the morning with the sun shining through the window. Shit, how hot was this?
Paloma bent over, untied the sash of his robe, and flipped it over her shoulder. The silky material parted revealing his massive erection.
Licking her lips she almost laughed at his determined expression. Silly man, he thought he was in control and that she was doing this all for him.
Without speaking, she walked behind the chair and grabbed one wrist and then another. He tried to pull away but she was so strong he couldn’t. “Hey I don’t—”
She bent over and whispered in his ear. “Either do it my way or no way at all.”
Keith glanced at his rock hard shaft and all the fight went out of him.
The silky sash slid along his skin and he relaxed. The fabric whispered and she secured his hands behind the chair, tying him a little too tight, but hell she didn’t care.
After she was done she walked around and stopped in front of him. He was hoping she was going to give him head like she had the other night, but she lifted up her skirt, whipped her panties off and tossed them across the tiled kitchen floor.
Paloma positioned her body above his and lowered herself until the head of his cock touched her nether lips. She bit her lip as his hard cock slid in her. She gripped him inside, feeling her own heat and wetness on the tip of his cock. He leaned forward his lips puckered.
Pulling back, she lifted herself off his penis. “I don’t want to kiss.”
He shrugged, then tried to thrust up to get inside her, but she pulled herself away and shook her head.
“Beg for it,” she ordered.
His mouth dropped open for a second.
She laughed. “Don’t you want it?”
“I don’t beg for pussy.”
She stood. “Guess you don’t want it bad enough.” Getting off him left her feeling empty and wanting.
He stared at his dick again. She could tell he was weighing his pride or his hard-on. Still not speaking he pulled at his ties. As much as she wanted to fuck him, she wasn’t going to do it until he pleaded. She wanted his pride more than his dick. Searching the kitchen, she wondered where she tossed her panties.
“Please,” he said.
“You can do better than that?”
Keith gritted his teeth. “Please, I’m begging.”
She had him where she wanted him. He needed to fuck her and he needed to do it now. Sex as a weapon was a wonderful thing. Smiling with a superior glint in her eyes, she lowered her body.
She felt his heavy cock at the entrance of her pussy and he grunted as she pulled him into her. Clenching her muscles, she let her hot wet flesh encircled him.
Keith closed his eyes and a sigh escaped his mouth. “Thanks, baby.”
All her nerve endings tingled as he throbbed inside. If he could do this to her all the time, she’d have nothing to complain about and the divorce wouldn’t happen.
Keith watched her face as she plunged deep onto him. He trembled beneath her.
He pulled against his restraints as she grinded down on him. With each stroke he hit her hard clit. The relentless need to cum drove her on. She tweaked his hard nipple and he groaned. Her own nipples poked out from the lacy cups of her bra. She leaned forward and rubbed herself on his chest tryi
ng to get some relief.
Rotating her hips she forced her clit against his cock. She bit her bottom lip to stop the moan of pleasure wanting to escape her mouth. She knew she was close.
Paloma raked her nails down his chest. He yelped in pain, she didn’t care. Paloma strained against him, her body undulating over his crotch. The chair scraped on the floor. She ground down on him as his body jerked with the harsh rhythm and Keith thrust up and she exploded with pleasure.
In her mind a fire wave rolled over and she heard a distant laugh. She rode out her orgasm until she felt him shoot his load inside her.
Wave after wave of pleasure filled her. She slumped forward. After a minute, she had the strength to stand. She pushed herself up, sliding off his still throbbing cock. Quickly she adjusted her skirt and looked at him. He’d passed out. It figured.
Chapter Four
* * *
Paloma sat in a chair at the foot of the bed watching Keith. A small smile curved his lips. He lay with one hand tucked beneath his ear.
She was almost done. Almost free.
He rolled over and his eyes fluttered open. “Hey, baby, come back to bed.”
That was the last thing she wanted to do. “I’m hungry. I want breakfast, how about you?”
“I want you.” Lazily, he patted the empty area next to him and gave her a sensual smile.
She stood and stretched. “Let me eat something and I’ll be so much more fun.”
She drew her robe around her shoulders and left the bedroom for the kitchen. The penthouse kitchen had been designed for a cook. Though the appliances were all upscale and the brown granite counter tops were top of the line, Paloma always felt like a fraud in it. Her best dish was macaroni and cheese out of a box. Though she liked the look of the cheerful yellow walls contrasting with the chrome appliances, she always felt like she would never live up to the kitchen’s expectations.
When she cooked, she used every pan she owned which meant she needed extra counter space, and extra counter space was at a premium in the small kitchen.
As she chopped strawberries for strawberry pancakes, Keith entered wearing his pajamas and carrying his cell phone. He grabbed her from behind and nuzzled her neck. Please God, she prayed, don’t let me throw up in the pancake mix. That would really ruin her day.
Keith’s cell phone rang and he let go of her to answer it. “Yeah,” he barked into the phone. He listened for a second. “What? What do you mean my recording studio burned down? It can’t burn down.”
Paloma’s throat started to sting. She clutched the base of her neck and tried to swallow. The burning grew until she almost whimpered in pain.
The shell grew heated as her fingers caressed the two remaining ridges. The shell undulated beneath her fingers and slowly the second ridge smoothed down. Only one was left. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked in a honey-sweet tone.
“Shut up,” he snarled.
Paloma wondered if she had a bottle of champagne, she felt like celebrating. She went back to slicing the strawberries. Keith rampaged around the kitchen as he talked on the phone. Finally he hung up. “I don’t believe it.”
“What’s going on, Keith?” Did she have the right amount of concern in her voice? Probably not, but he was so upset, he’d never notice that she was gloating again.
“Didn’t you hear me? My recording studio burned down. I have to go.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
He snarled at her. “Do I care?” He headed toward the hall. “I need to borrow your car.”
“When are we going to go down to the dealership and buy yourself a new Bentley?”
As he stared hard at her, rage crossed his face and was gone in an instant. “I don’t have time for that right now. I have to see how bad the fire was and what was lost.”
“I can call the insurance agent if you want.”
“No,” he said too quickly.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.”
For a second she thought he was going to cry. Too bad, so sad, she thought as she popped a strawberry into her mouth. Should she show more compassion? No, she didn’t think so.
She sighed and put the griddle on the stove to heat. “I’ll save you some pancakes,” she called after his retreating back.
I should feel bad, she thought, but I don’t. She dropped batter onto the griddle and stood with the spoon in her hand watching it sizzle.
She didn’t feel bad about using sex as a weapon, or that his life was crashing around him. A good wife would support her husband, but then again he wasn’t a good husband.
When her brother had almost died in an accident, Keith had come to the hospital one time. When the hurricane hit New Orleans, he’d simply shrugged as though he couldn’t be bothered.
He’d begrudged her time to go to New Orleans and help handle family business, and when she’d given two concerts and donated the proceeds to the relief effort, he’d gone ballistic. He hated when she spent money on her family. He hated when she spent money on anyone but him.
Her pancakes cooked, little bubbles rising to the surface. When the pancakes were done, she heated maple syrup in the microwave and sat down to eat. When bad things happened to bad people her grandmother used to make the comment that the elephant would dance among the chickens. Paloma would ask what that meant, saying that the elephant would stomp the chickens. And her grandmother would smile and reply, exactly. Paloma realized the elephant was warming up to stomp on her husband’s chickens.
Was there a special place in hell for her? Getting back at him for what he’d done to her was worth it. She forked bites of pancake into her mouth and chewed thoroughly. Damn, she was a good cook. At least she could take care of herself.
The phone rang and she picked up to find her cousin Jean-Luc on the other end.
“I have some interesting information for you,” he said.
“So tell me.” She pushed the plate away.
“I did some checking on Syrah. How long has your man been working that girl?”
“I’m not totally sure, but I think about three years.” She remembered when Keith had bought and paid for voice lessons for her, a make over, and her new clothes. He did all the same things for Syrah he’d once done for Paloma. He even spent thousands of dollars getting Syrah’s teeth fixed and she put on a gold grill.
“How old is she?”
“I think around twenty-two or twenty-three.”
“Not yet, she ain’t.”
Paloma sat up straight. “What do you mean, Jean-Luc?”
“I found her birth certificate, she’s barely eighteen.”
Shocked, Paloma tried to make sense of what her cousin was saying. “Oh, my, God,” Paloma said as the implication finally set in.
“Your husband was going at her when she was fifteen. That girl is from South Carolina and you know what that means.”
“No,” Paloma said, “but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Let’s just say, your husband has not only committed a felony, but he took her across state lines before she was eighteen and that makes his action a federal crime.”
Paloma did some rapid math. “But she’s at least eighteen now.”
“But the statute of limitations clock is still tickin’. And I talked to that gal’s grandmama who is a sweet churchgoing lady. She’s looking to press charges. She was so happy to know her baby was all right and not dead. She filed herself a missing person’s report and those small town police officers were thinking she was dead. No one had any idea she’d shown up in Sin City. I’m sure everyone would like to close the case.”
Paloma reeled. What the hell had Keith been thinking? An underage girl! That made Paloma a co-conspirator. She was going to need a criminal lawyer as well as a divorce lawyer. That bastard, that lying, cheating, money-sucking bastard.
“Your man is learnin’ his first big reality lesson about women, cher,” Jean-Luc said.
“And what’s that?
�
��Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Jean Luc chuckled. “You think about what you want to do.”
What she wanted to do was call her cousin, Tyrone. Tyrone would make the body disappear. Bull sharks, snapping turtles and alligators, the rumor was that Tyrone used all sorts of wild life to clean up his messes. Damn, but she was already in league with the black magic. She didn’t want to make a deal with Satan and compound her sin. She was going to be doing penance the rest of her life. But being free of Keith made it all worth while.
“Thank you, Jean-Luc.” She hung up the phone and took a long sip of her coffee. Her throat felt tight and raw.
The silence in the penthouse gnawed at her. She turned on the TV and found that the news of Keith’s loss had already spread to the media. A camera panned the devastation as the fire crews poured water on the smoldering building. A close-up of Keith showed him staring at the fire, his face devastated.
Paloma’s heart almost went out to him. Maybe she’d made a mistake. As she fingered the shell nestled against her breasts, she thought maybe she had been too harsh on him.
Keith obviously loved his studio. Everything had been state of the art and from the look of some of the people he’d signed, he had found some real talent. But then he turned and the camera followed him as he headed back to Paloma’s Lexus. Just before the camera swung back to the fire, Paloma saw Syrah sitting on the passenger side as though she owned the damn Lexus.
Paloma’s heart hardened. She frowned, her hands curling into fists as she resisted the urge to pound the table. That bastard, he had his hoochie girl with him when he hadn’t wanted Paloma. Paloma’s throat burst into an inferno of burning.
She hadn’t been too harsh on the bastard. He deserved everything he got. As the camera swung back to the reporter, an old woman darted out of the crowd viewing the fire. Paloma leaned forward trying to see, but the old woman blended back into the crowd and had disappeared before Paloma could identify her. Had she just seen Miss Odile? No. Not possible. Miss Odile never left the bayou.
The news ended and Paloma switched off the TV and the phone rang. Paloma answered to find her mother on the other end.
