by Cairo
“What the fuck, man?! he thought, scolding himself. This is just this freaky bitch’s M.O., teasing muhfuckas. She likes fucking with niggahs…”
And she was fucking with him. He felt it deep in his gut. And he didn’t appreciate it one motherfucking bit. She’d never catch him slipping, though—not if he could help it. He wasn’t some soft-ass mofo. He wasn’t about to get played for a sucker. And he wasn’t about to let her sexy-ass or his throbbing dick fuck up his money. He had restraint. Self-control. And he intended to use every ounce of it to keep from getting lured into her snare.
He shook his head as Drake’s cover of Jamie Foxx’s “Fall For Your Type” started playing. How fucking apropos.
Nairobia Jansen was fucking off-limits. Period. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He’d willingly offered his last client more than just his company’s security services. And he quickly found himself caught up in more than he was prepared for. He hadn’t fallen in love with her. But he’d fallen in love with her head game. She sucked his dick and loved on his balls with her tongue, making his toes curl and him spit his nut faster than any other woman had ever done.
She’d been a dick-sucking beast and he couldn’t get enough of her neck work. Anytime he’d see her lips, his dick would come alive. The rumors had been true. She’d been trolling online for dick, and took to sucking random cats while her then fiancé was behind the wall, serving a prison bid for drug dealing. Then he released from prison and she’d married him. To only end up leaving him, and ruthlessly bringing her man down with the help of him and others she’d meticulously lured in with her charm and seductive wiles. She’d been known as the Deep Throat Diva, and lived up to every part of her name, sucking his heart and soul out through the slit of his fat dick.
However, truth be told, attached to that wet, juicy mouth of hers had come with it a whole lot of unnecessary drama that’d caused him to take a bullet for her, and have to boot up and get down and dirty for her cause, doing things he’d cared not to rehash.
He wasn’t complaining—just remembering. It had come with the territory. Protecting a woman who’d been married to a major drug dealer. Trying to keep her safe from him at all costs. Still, because of how he was built, he’d do it all over again—for her, if he had to, because that was how he got down. He was loyal. And he knew if Nairobia needed him, for anything, he’d more than likely have her back too.
She was a fucking temptress.
That was a problem.
And his hard dick had the potential to be an even bigger problem if he didn’t stay in control. He wasn’t about to sign up for any drama. But fuck if he didn’t want to split her yams open one good time, and push his dick up in her guts; just once.
He looked over at her one last time, before navigating his muscular frame through the crowd. He made a mental note to check her ass. ASAP. He touched the earbud discreetly plugged in his ear, relieved when someone from his detail radioed in for him to come down to the club’s main level.
Nairobia watched him as he walked off and grinned slyly as he disappeared from her view.
You can run, but you can’t hide your desires, my darling. I will have you in my bed. Soon. And melt my cunt all over your cock…
She threw her head back.
And climaxed.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Aside from stacking his money, Lamar had three weaknesses: beautiful women, good pussy, and superb head—and not necessarily in that order. He simply loved beautiful women. He loved fucking. And he loved getting his thick, black cock sucked, sloppily, deep and wet.
Shit.
And he had no problem getting either of the three.
But working at The Pleasure Zone was really starting to become a challenge for him. Temptation swirled up all around him. It hovered over him like a noose, swinging, waiting to slide down over his head, around his neck and strangle the shit out of him.
He decided that he had to get away from it before it lured him in, and had him strung the fuck out.
This club.
Nairobia.
Fucking Nairobia!
Not that he was afraid of her. He wasn’t afraid of any broad. And he definitely wasn’t afraid of pussy. No. He was afraid of himself. He was afraid of giving into the temptation and then becoming hooked on this shit around him at the club.
All this fucking and sucking, all this pussy and ass on display, had his head spinning.
The shit was better than watching porn.
And it kept his dick hard.
He’d never been addicted to anything other than making money. Period.
But desire was fucking with him.
The devil was fucking with him.
Nairobia was fucking with him. Her and that body, and those sexy-ass gray eyes of hers could tempt him to…
Lamar shook his head.
She was sin draped in diamonds. She was wickedness dipped in sweet honey.
She was…
Goddamn mesmerizing.
She was a walking wet dream.
Fucking porn-star bitch!
A fucking disaster waiting to happen!
He knew it.
And he had to keep telling himself to not let his aching dick fuck up his bread. Had to keep reminding himself that she was a motherfucking potential problem.
She was hellfire personified.
And every time he was around her, flames engulfed his balls, licked at his dick, and had him ready to nut on himself.
Motherfuck, he wanted to beat her pussy up so goddamn bad. The thought alone made heat inside him rise. He knew what a broad like her needed. She needed a good fucking, a hard, balls-deep pounding. She needed his curved dick deep in her ass, gripping him like a fist, her ass clenching hard around his thick cock.
Yeah, that’s what she needed. For him to bust her ass wide open. That would teach the sexpot not to taunt a cat like him.
Gritting his teeth as he pressed the call button and waited for the elevator to descend to the main level of the club, Lamar glanced at his watch.
4 a.m.
The club would close in another two hours. But the place was still packed with club-goers starving for a night of untamed pleasures.
Lamar couldn’t believe how many nasty-ass mofos there were out there, looking for any way to unleash their hidden, freaky desires. Hell, he’d be the first to admit he loved getting freaky with it. But, goddamn. These motherfuckers up in here took the word freak to a whole other level.
And the shit fascinated him to no end.
But, again…there was this one caveat.
Nairobia.
The stunning bombshell with the deep, raspy voice whom he’d witnessed, firsthand, toy with men, then devour them with her cunningness. She could eat a man whole. Literally. Yet, the things about her he wanted so desperately to avoid were the same things he found himself drawn to.
She was focused. She knew what she wanted. And when she had her sights set on something—or someone, she was unyielding. And had no problem going after it. He found himself attracted to her aggressiveness. She could be extreme and uncompromising…and that shit turned him the fuck on.
He’d done his homework—used his resources and connects to uncover whatever he could about her—before he handed her the contract to employ his company’s services.
In addition to providing security detail, his company also provided background checks. And, yes, like with all his potential clients, he had a file on Nairobia. Thin as it was, it told him what he needed to know.
There was nothing shady about her, nothing remotely askew. Aside from being a freak, she engaged in no unsavory business practices. In his report of her, there was very little info surrounding her childhood. Her mother was Dutch royalty, and her father a Nigerian diplomat. From ages twelve to seventeen, she’d attended an all-girls’ boarding school in Switzerland. Strangely, there was no record of her for almost a year after that until she emerged, again, at age eighteen, appearing
in her first role as Pleasure in the movie Sweet Pussy.
Yeah, he’d bet his left nut her pussy was as sweet as it looked.
Shit, shit, shit…
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He had a girl. Someone he’d been seeing for the last six months. Lana. She had nice, big cantaloupe-sized titties and a fat ass. And he dug her. He’d met her on his flight from Atlanta to Newark. They’d talked it up the whole flight back to New Jersey that by the time the plane had hit the tarmac, he’d gotten her number. And by the time they’d reached baggage claim, he’d had a date lined up for later that evening.
He liked her easy, laid-back vibe. She had a good head on her shoulders. Was into sports, like him. Was easy to talk to. And didn’t come with a bunch of drama. He liked that. And he appreciated how she made him wait for the pussy. He’d sadly admitted to himself it wasn’t really worth the two-month wait, though.
It was wet, sure. But far from juicy. And it wasn’t spectacular. And, though she sucked his dick, her head game needed work. But he’d given her a pass for her enthusiasm, and her willingness to get better. Still, after six months of practice, she’d still scrape up his dick with her teeth.
And, besides being stingy with the sex, she still ran from the dick after more than thirty minutes of him inside her, doggy-style. Truthfully, she lacked the kind of sex drive he needed in his life. He preferred access to pussy—or head, or both—every night. However, she had thought that too excessive. But agreed to sex three times a week.
Still, in spite of those shortcomings, she was a cutie. And, although he couldn’t say for sure he loved her, he did, however, enjoy spending time with her. She was a good girl who didn’t drink or smoke, or curse, not even while being fucked. She was definitely a more reserved type.
Classy.
But her ass was far from a freak in the sheets. He needed, wanted, a mixture of the both. A chick who was classy in the streets, but knew how to bring it in the sheets. And Lana fell short. So, hell yeah, he was sexually frustrated. He hadn’t really cheated on her—did getting head count?—since they’d been together. But it was becoming torturous not going back to his philandering ways.
And working here—with Nairobia—was fuel to an already burning need.
He couldn’t get the image of her dancing up against that wall earlier in the evening out of his head, the way the light from the candles and torches illuminated her smooth mocha-coated skin. Fire had speared him as he stood there in back of the crowd and watched her, his eyes locked on her every move from behind his dark shades, as she seduced her captive audience—a bunch of foaming-at-the-mouth motherfuckers—as if her pussy had superpowers. The way she glowed. The way her hips swayed. The way she stood there in her come fuck-me heels—naked!—taunting her prey as they ogled her like a bunch of horny frat boys; pulling herself open to them, baring her beautiful tits, that fat, juicy ass—and her bare pussy.
Jesus Christ!
That freaky bitch had a fat-ass pussy.
And he had to keep reminding himself that it’d been fucked inside out by a slew of nasty motherfuckers on and off the screen. That porn stars were just overpaid whores, no more, no less.
Still…
This bitch was bad as fuck.
And she was about her paper. Getting that bread. She was a hustler. And he dug that about her. So he couldn’t hate on her for using what she had to get what she wanted. Hell, he couldn’t front like he hadn’t been known to trick up his money on strippers and hoes, even taking his share to one of the private rooms for some head, or taking a ho or two to his whip and fucking their lights out in the backseat.
He’d blown thousands of dollars on tricks and hoes who’d gladly offered up a night of pussy and head.
So who was he to judge?
When the elevator doors opened, he stepped in. Then pressed the button for the fourth floor. He couldn’t wait to get this shit over with. He needed to set boundaries. He needed to check Nairobia’s ass and set the record straight once and for all, so he could do his fucking job without all the unnecessary distractions.
This wasn’t personal.
It was business.
And if she didn’t like it, then hell…she could fire him. And, if necessary, terminate the terms of their contract. Yeah, right. He sighed, shaking his head. Who the fuck was he kidding?
It wasn’t just about him. True, he could remove himself from the situation and replace himself with one of his partners, or with another member from his security team. Quick fix, for sure. But was that what he really wanted?
He couldn’t be sure.
But what he was sure of was, losing this contract would mean the people under him losing bread. He couldn’t have that. Many of them had families, had mouths to feed, and loads of bills. They needed this. So he wasn’t about to fuck this up for them.
The thought of being caught up in her web of seduction unnerved him and made his blood boil. He found himself wondering if he’d done the right thing not giving this assignment to his boy, his partner in crime, Mel, instead of taking it on himself.
Regardless, limits still needed to be set. Clear, defined lines needed to be drawn in the proverbial sand.
And, tonight, before the sun rose, Lamar planned on making it clear to Nairobia what his role in her hire would or wouldn’t be.
Period.
The elevator doors opened, and Lamar stepped out, making his way down the carpeted corridor, passing several playrooms. He did his damnedest not to stop and revel in the debauchery around him. Instead, he kept walking, keeping the sexually explicit goings-on up on the fourth floor locked in his peripherals. It was what he was trained to do. Be on alert. See everything around him at all times. And, right now, all he saw were tongues on pussies—on clits, mouths on dicks…and people climaxing.
He walked past a condom and lube station on the right of him, followed by the Cognac lounge, whirls of cigar smoke floating around the space. To the right of him, sultry music seeped out from beneath the closed door. Some side ho anthem he couldn’t recall the name of. He wasn’t sure what the hell that large space was called, but he called it the Stripper Room because of its three stages and stripper poles. All he knew was the room was filled with a bunch of horny broads taking turns up on each stage, embracing their alter stripper egos, and whatever else.
He made a quick left down another hall, then stood in front of thick sliding glass doors. He stared at the keypad to the right of the door, then punched in his four-digit passcode. He hadn’t had to use it before, until now.
A split-second later, the doors slid open and he stepped through, the doors sliding shut behind him. Instantly, quietness followed in behind him. He realized then that the area was soundproofed. The walls were painted red. Red lights shined overhead. Dramatic. Sensual. He found the color fitting since the owner of the club was hot like fire.
He breathed in the heat as he made his way toward her office, toward the flames.
• • •
Her office door was slightly ajar. He heard the moan before he reached it.
He blinked.
Took a step closer. Then another. And peered in, hovering just behind the crack in her door.
Oh shit.
What the fuck?
Nairobia was atop her desk—fucking butt-ass naked, her body bathed in the glow of low lighting, playing in her pussy.
Pleasuring herself.
He couldn’t believe this shit.
What the fuck is wrong with her? he thought as he sucked in a breath and eyed her breasts. And those mouthwatering nipples! Hard nipples. Sweet. Chocolate, melt-in-his-mouth nipples he wanted to feel dissolve onto his wet tongue.
As if she sensed his presence, knew his thoughts, Nairobia bowed her head and cupped her breasts and gathered them up toward her long tongue, swiping it over each thick, distended nipple.
He blinked. Bit back an unexpected groan.
Lamar’s hungry gaze slowly skimmed over her taut body. Goddamn. She h
ad a body that would put most broads half her age to shame. This wasn’t good. Seeing this. He hadn’t been standing here any more than a few seconds and she’d already managed to have him unfocused.
He had to quit. Had to get the hell out of here. And stay far away from her. Before she had him all fucked up in the head. Still his legs didn’t move.
No broad had ever had him like this. Wanting to lose himself inside of them. Teetering on the edge of—
Nairobia murmured something in Dutch, her whispered voice sending jolts of electricity through him, zapping every nerve ending in his body as he stood and watched her fingers glide between her legs.
Why was this bitch fucking with him?
She was in the habit of yanking motherfuckers by the balls and dragging them by their dicks, that’s why.
He gritted his teeth.
Nairobia did her best to hide a sly smile as she threw her head back, lowered her lids, and peered through her long lashes at the sight of him watching her. She feigned unknowing. “Mmm…ja, ja, ja…fuck me…mmm…oooh…my wet kut…uhh…”
Her pussy gushed, making the puddle beneath her wetter, bigger, as she finger-fucked herself and flicked a finger over her clit.
Lamar was beside himself. Crazed with lust. He needed, wanted, to be inside of her. Fucking the shit out of her. He groaned inwardly, his eyes fixed on the silhouette before him. The sound of her pussy, full of warmth and wetness, filled with juicy intense pleasure, swooped around him. The smell of her was sweet. It wafted around her office, then floated through the crack in the door, and settled on his chocolate lips. He could almost taste her.
Goddamn, motherfuck, shit!
This was some fucked-up shit. Standing here. Stalker-like. Prying.
He knew this shit he was doing was all sorts of fucked up. Knew he should turn away. Leave now. But he couldn’t. The erotic sight of her pleasuring herself was too enthralling to walk away from. So he stood there and let his hungry gaze eat up the view. Of her pussy, her delicate fingers, strumming a wet symphony between her slick glistening folds.
