“I was somewhat experienced. I’d learned how to give pretty good blow jobs to my mother’s husband, and I’d tested my skills on a few of the high school boys from D.C. who were staying in the same hotel as my cheerleading team while we were in Vegas. That summer we won the cheerleading competition. I guess I was proving I was more experienced than the other girls on my squad. I sucked eight dicks on that trip, including yours. Each of those boys lied to me. All except one. You.”
Grant was silent.
“Grant, are you listening to me? This is the part about you,” I said, shoving his forehead up from the table.
“Huh? What? Yeah, sure, I heard you,” he said, nodding.
“You were tall and handsome. Sometimes I’d fall asleep pretending you were my boyfriend. I never forgot the look in your eyes after you came in my mouth. A teardrop fell. Not because you felt good. You honestly apologized. ‘Tiffany, I’m so sorry. You’re so beautiful,’ you said. ‘And obviously you’re popular. Save yourself for a guy that cares about you. All guys aren’t dogs. Please forgive me.’ While I was still on my knees, you kissed my forehead, then walked away. I remember that day like it was yesterday.
“The saying ‘Be careful what you ask for’ quickly became my harsh reality after this charming man by the name of Pretty Ricky approached me on Sunset and offered to take me on a trip to Las Vegas. Unfortunately, I was still in search of a place to call home, a boyfriend to claim as my own, and someone to love, so I went with him, thinking if I was lucky, maybe I’d see you again.”
Grant’s shoulders and head slumped. His eyes were closed. He was probably one of those people who could listen in his sleep.
“I was so damn naïve, but I grew up fast when Pretty Ricky drugged me and beat my ass on the regular, and he actually enjoyed that shit. If I didn’t suck enough dicks or fuck enough tricks or steal expensive jewelry or things of value to increase his bottom line, bam, right in my face. Pretty Ricky didn’t give a fuck about me. To my pimp, I was a means for him to maintain his big house, his fancy cars, his designer clothes, etc. In exchange for what? Nothing. I had to give him all of my money.
“A busted lip or a bruised hip didn’t warrant a trip to the hospital. A cotton ball drenched with witch hazel and held against the purple swelling, followed by make-up, and I was back on the stroll to get his money, and if I showed up without it, bam, another ass whipping was guaranteed. The best thing for me was I never got arrested.
“When a john stabbed me in my side, then pushed me out of his car, my pimp left me for dead. Standing over me, staring down at me, Pretty Ricky uttered his last words to me. ‘Tiffany, you’re one dumb bitch. No, you’re the dumbest bitch. You’re not worth beating. I hope you die.’ He reached toward me, and when I held out my hand to him, he snatched the two hundred dollars I had in my bra. Then he walked away as though he’d never known me, as though I hadn’t made hundreds of thousands of dollars for him by fucking filthy, doggish men for an entire year.
“After being released from the hospital, I hitched a ride with a stranger I’d later discover was a youth counselor. The elderly lady drove me from Vegas to the small town of Henderson and dropped me off at a nice home. She said, ‘Go inside, my child. You’ll be safe here.’ I was fortunate enough to get taken in by a family that owned a restaurant. They helped enroll me in adult night school, let me live with them until I graduated from the University of Neveda, Las Vegas, and employed me part time as a waitress during the evenings and weekends. There were nice people in the world, but I couldn’t say they loved me. I think, like you, Grant, they felt sorry for me.
“Determined to survive, I started by keeping my legs shut. I saved every dime, including my tips, until I had my college degree and enough money to move out. Returning to Vegas, I applied for every available undercover cop position until I was hired. I insisted on working the Strip. Most johns coming to Vegas to get laid thought getting their dicks sucked was part of the perks. I showed them how wrong they were. I enjoyed being part of the sting operation that arrested their dumb asses and listening to them plead for me not to take them in while they quietly offered me bribes. Right when they were on the verge of pulling their dicks out of their pants, I’d flash my badge and say, ‘You’re under arrest for the solicitation of sex.’ ‘They’d all say, ‘I thought this was legal in Vegas.’ Tightening the handcuffs to cut off their circulation, I’d reply, ‘You’re dead wrong.’ I wish I could’ve castrated them all.
“Sitting at my dining table one night, sipping on diet cola, I decided I was going to shoot every pimp. Execution style. Until I killed every pimp alive or died trying. I scribbled names on a napkin. Alphonso Allen was on my hit list, right before that sorry-ass pimp I’d worked for. I was saving Pretty Ricky for last. Valentino James was a different kind of pimp. If he hadn’t killed Sunny Day, he wouldn’t be on my list at all. The year before she was killed, Sunny had become my only friend. I didn’t approve of her working for Valentino and Lace, but I couldn’t force her to quit, so I stayed close enough to watch over her. Never in my lifetime did I think Valentino would rape then shoot any of his escorts in the head, especially a nice girl like Sunny.
“Stealing one hundred million dollars from Valentino would’ve been sufficient, but I won’t be done with him until I shoot him in the head in broad daylight and watch him take his last breath. How quickly society forgets the women and children, like Sherrice Iverson, a seven-year-old, who are raped and then killed by men like Jeremy Strohmeyer. Does the Bible not dictate an eye for an eye? Iverson is dead, and Strohmeyer escaped death row by pleading guilty and received four consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole, life being the operative word. Strohmeyer, soon to be thirty years old, is alive. He probably thought that because he had Leslie Abramson, the lawyer who also represented the Menendez brothers, he’d get off by claiming he was high on alcohol and drugs and didn’t remember committing any crime.
“Generously, I gave Lace half of Valentino’s stash but quickly changed my mind. She doesn’t deserve half until I am convinced she is on my team. Since I’m killing pimps, eventually, my counterparts will catch up with me, and I need an ally with enough money to bail me out. That’s why I need Honey.”
As I relived my past with Grant, he pushed his half-empty plate aside. “Wheeewww!” Grant exhaled so loud, I stared at him.
What was his problem? “You okay? I didn’t mean to spoil your appetite, but having someone to listen so attentively to my problems for once without changing the subject has moved me to tears.” Sniffling, I wiped my nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like this. I’m really a strong person.”
Holding me in his arms, Grant said, “Yes…indeed. Yes, indeed. And you are special. You are a true survivor.”
Gazing up at him, I asked, “So how well do you know Honey?”
With firm conviction, Grant said, “It’s simple. I’m in love with her, and I want to marry her.”
Not at all what I wanted to hear. Easing out of his arms, I went to the cabinet and removed dessert. I sat the jar of peanut butter in front of him, alongside the strawberry preserves.
Shaking his head, Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small packets. “Just in case, I brought my own. But this time I’m gonna make a sammich.”
He liked me. He wanted me.
I unbuttoned Grant’s shirt, and I swear, I’d never seen a chest so defined. I was tempted to rub my hands all over him, until he removed his pants and I saw his perfectly muscular ass. His dick hung with thickness over his large nuts. Ooh-wee! My pussy pulsated with joy.
I guessed he was lying about marrying Honey, but I wasn’t about to bring her ass up again.
We went into the bathroom. Handing him a set of towels, I removed my clothes. I saw his eyebrows rise with approval as he closed the shower door. I stepped into the tub and sat facing him. He lathered his body. I bet those were the happiest suds sliding over his nipples, down his navel, and between his th
ighs. Grant faced me, lathered his face. Then he leaned his head under the flowing water. Aw, damn. I started cuming as I watched the water glide over his forehead, his eyes, his nose, in and then out of his mouth, over his succulent lips.
Grant stepped out of the shower. I got out of the tub and began drying his body with my tongue, licking the wetness from his dick and his balls.
“Tiffany, we really shouldn’t do this. I really am in love with Honey.”
“And I’m horny as fuck, and, yes, you are either going to fuck me or I’m going to rape you. The choice is yours.”
Ignoring Grant’s weak protest, I straddled him, rotated my pussy, then eased his dick inside of me. That shit felt incredible. I didn’t need him to move, but I was delighted when he did.
Grant’s strong hands gripped my ass tight. He started slamming me down on his dick. “Get up,” he said.
“What?” Was he serious? I was on the verge of cumming all over his dick.
“Get up,” he repeated.
This time I got up.
“Come here,” he demanded. “Bring that pussy over here.”
Grant barely finished the sentence before I made it to the foot of the bed.
“Wrap your arms around the post, and spread your legs,” he ordered. “I’m about to get deep in this pussy.”
Aw, shit. I felt every inch of Grant’s dick sliding inside of me. My body trembled with orgasmic pleasure. His arm embraced my waist, and he dug deeper inside of me. It had been a long time since I’d let a man penetrate me. The pain reminded me. The pleasure reminded me, too.
“Grant, don’t ever stop loving me,” I moaned.
“I don’t love you, Tiffany. I’m fucking you. There’s a difference,” he said. His sweat rolled down my spine and between the crack of my ass.
He was right. But sooner than he could imagine, I’d be right.
CHAPTER 25
Grant
Ooh-wee. I wanted to stab Tiffany in her side and push her to the floor. My God, that woman was crazy. I figured I had to fuck her to shut her the hell up. Tiffany needed a real good fuck to clean out her pussy, and she needed to see a shrink. The bitch was on one helluva whirlwind psychological tour.
I would never fuck Honey the way I was fucking the shit out of Tiffany. I ain’t gon’ lie. Tiffany’s pussy was good. But she couldn’t compete with the love of my life. Honey deserved all of me, emotionally and physically. I knew Tiffany wanted more, but she got what she deserved, a straight fuck, and she should be grateful.
I wasn’t eating her pussy or licking her ass the way I’d done each time I made love to Honey. Going down on a woman for me was personal. I regretted leaving Honey’s house after violating her privacy by answering her cell phone. If she’d done that to me, and I’d found out, I’d have cursed her out. Our trust bond was already broken, but a move like that would’ve severed our relationship for good.
In less than twenty-four hours of my being at Tiffany’s, we’d run out of peanut butter and strawberry preserves, milk, honey, and anal lube. The sheets on her bed were sticky. My nuts were stuck to my ass, and her hair was matted. That was how we ended up in the shower.
“Haaaa, haaaaa.” I exhaled. “Turn your ass around.” Spreading her cheeks, Tiffany tilted her head backward, letting the hot water beat against her face.
“Grant, you’re everything I imagined,” she moaned, thrusting her ass onto my dick. “I just can’t get enough of you.”
I’d had enough of her hours ago. Other than sex, we had nothing in common. Her past was a sad one. Her stepfather was one dirty son of a bitch that deserved to have his ass beaten beyond recognition. Sapphire was a cop. Why didn’t she go after him? She knew where he lived. I think she wanted to go home to see her mother and would have, without hesitation, if she knew he wouldn’t be there. Or maybe the fear was so overwhelming, nothing could make her step foot back in her mother’s home.
Pressing my hands on her lower spine, I dug deeper into her pussy. “Aw, Tiffany, I’m getting ready to cum. You ready, baby?”
She reached between her legs and mine. She grabbed my nuts and held them tight. I didn’t know what felt better: my dick deep inside her pussy or the way she kept massaging the spot between my dick and my balls, stimulating my prostrate.
“Aw, shit.” Pussy was a man’s best friend. “It’s right there, Tiffany. That’s the spot. Press harder,” I said. I inhaled, and steam raced up my nose, then down my throat. I didn’t care. I kept digging deeper in her tight pussy. Tiffany’s ass was nice and wet. I slipped my thumb all the way inside her ass.
“That’s it. Yeah,” she moaned, backing me into the wall with her ass.
Turning around, Tiffany squatted in the shower. I slipped my dick into her mouth, and franticly she stroked my shaft. “Give it to me. Cum on, Daddy,” she moaned. Water flowed in and out of her mouth along with my dick.
She was forcing another load out of me. What the hell. I was ready to be done a long time ago. I grunted as I spit out the few seeds I had left to give. My legs became weak. “That’s it,” I said, stepping out of the shower. “You are not going to have me limping back to Atlanta. No more dick for you, insatiable lady.”
I wrapped a towel around my waist, went into the guest bedroom, and stretched across the mattress, sideways. A few minutes later, Tiffany came in. She cuddled beside me.
“Thanks for giving me the best orgasms. You sure you can’t stay another day?” she said.
Moving away from her, I shook my head. I didn’t want to cuddle with her. “I came here to find out your connection to Honey. Now I know.” I rolled over, hiding my dick. “But every time I say I’m leaving, you beg me to stay. You want to have sex. I’m all sexed out. So can we talk about my brother now?”
“One question. I’ll only answer one. What do you want to know the most?”
“Did you really find him with a gun stuck in his ass?”
“Yes, in the house that Honey still owns.”
“Did Honey stick the gun in his ass?” I needed to know for personal reasons.
“That’s two questions,” Tiffany said, rolling her eyes at me.
“No, it’s part two to one question. So answer me.”
“He said she did, and I believe him. Look, Grant. Honey is holding my money for you and me. For us to be together. Not for you to be with her. I’m so glad I found you. How’s your four-hundred-eleven-unit development in Atlanta coming along?”
What the fuck? She was investigating me? Frowning, I sat on the edge of the bed, then said, “There is no us.” Was she hearing impaired, or like most women, did Tiffany only hear what she wanted to hear?
“Why can’t you give us a try? I could move to D.C. or Atlanta. I know you didn’t spend the last twenty-four hours making love to me while you were thinking about her. I made you forget about her. Admit it,” she said, grabbing between my legs.
Swatting her hand away, I said, “Leave my dick alone. Damn.” I pushed her arm away again and again. “Fuck! Stop it, will you!”
“Grant, no man has made me feel this way. We have to be together. We will be together whether you like it or not.”
That statement confirmed my thoughts that the woman was stone crazy. “Why don’t you go cook us breakfast while I think about it,” I lied. Whatever happened with the fifty million was between them. At least Honey was honest about what she’d done. Tiffany wanted to play head games and live in some make-believe world in which she made me make her happy.
“That means you’re considering my proposal. Make the right decision, baby. I wouldn’t want to have to arrest your sweet Honey for murdering Reynolds to have you all to myself. But I will do whatever it takes. I don’t want you going near her again.” Tiffany left the room.
Decisions. Decisions. For me, shit like this only happened in movies. The sun started shining through the window. The problem I had was Tiffany actually believed, with a badge and a gun on her side of the law, she could make me do any damn thing.
“Tiffany!” I yelled, sitting up in her bed. “You can’t be serious. Forget about us!”
“Of course, I am, sweetheart, and I need an answer from you before you leave.” She paused. “Or you’re not going anywhere,” she sang.
“What do you want?” I heaved, then swallowed the bile sliding up and down my throat. “Fuck it. Your ass is sick.”
“You haven’t seen sick.” Tiffany returned, clicking a nutcracker. Ripping away the edges of a plastic bag, she scattered walnuts all over the bed.
Crack.
Casually, she asked, “Want some?”
I’d never made a bad choice, one where I felt there was no redemption. I hadn’t planned on letting Tiffany control my life. Since breaking up with Honey, I’d fucked Velvet and Tiffany, but my dick had done most of the thinking. It felt fucking fantastic in the moment, but sitting here right now across from this crazy bitch, I regretted it. That was why I’d stopped texting Velvet. She wanted a relationship, too. She was a stripper, for God’s sake, traveling around the country with Trevor to seduce his business partners. I was glad I’d listened to my father about the business deal. Women who were looking for a man to take care of them weren’t the kind I wanted to commit to. And I wanted kids, but not some other man’s kid, like Ronnie.
“I can’t do it,” I said. Irrespective of how my parents felt, what my brother had said, and what Tiffany said she was doing, my heart had never wavered. Honey was the one I wanted to have a family with. My cell phone had died during the night. I left Tiffany on the bed, unzipped my suitcase, and plugged in my phone.
“Can and you will,” she said, picking up her cordless phone. Tiffany dialed eleven digits, then said, “Here.”
Crack. She busted another walnut.
Whos Loving You Page 16
