by Cairo
The only thing she’d felt was relief. She could finally let go of the idea that one day he’d find it in his heart to love her again. His death made it final. He wasn’t ever coming back, wasn’t ever going to welcome her back into his heart again.
So with that knowing came no tears. Perhaps because she’d already buried him the day he’d told her she no longer was his, that he’d disowned her.
He had been her first experience with men. He’d showered her, almost eighteen years of her life, with love. And she’d spent the remaining eighteen years of her life, avoiding it—at all costs, from anyone else.
So why had she dug out her father’s photo of him holding her in his arms. It’d been a proud moment for him, her birth, so she’d been told. Yet, he’d blamed her for breaking his heart, for ripping out his soul and tossing it to the dogs.
She’d never believed that. Not one moment. Thank God. But she could see how some other young, impressionable girl would. He’d tried emotionally blackmailing her. But it hadn’t worked. She’d been too headstrong. Too determined to live her own life. And make her own way.
She had.
And she made no apologies for doing so.
Still, there’d been times when she’d wondered how a father could turn his back on his child, his daughter. Unless he’d never really loved her in the first place. But, then, somewhere along the way, she’d stopped wondering. Stopped caring.
What that experience had taught her was that men were manipulating. And only loved with conditions. She stared at the photo of her father once more, hoping she’d feel something, anything, before burning it.
But she didn’t.
The penthouse phone rang as she neared the edge of the photo over the candle’s flickering flame. She pulled it back, and let it flutter to the table, next to the burning candle. She went to retrieve the ringing phone.
“Hello.”
“Good evening, Miss Jansen. This is Stewart.”
She smiled. “Hello, Stewart. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes. There’s a…” He paused. Nairobia heard him ask, “Sir, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” she heard a gruff voice in the background say. “Just tell her I’m here. And want to see her, now.”
Nairobia scowled. She didn’t like the sound of the man’s tone. How dare he be rude and demanding?
Stewart returned to the phone. “Ma’am, there’s a gentleman down in the lobby, refusing to give his name. He said you’d be expecting him.”
Nairobia frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially tonight. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “Are you sure it’s me he’s asking for?“
“Yes, ma’am.”
Baffled, she flipped through her mental Rolodex searching for a hint of who this nameless scoundrel might be. “Has he been here before?” she asked, wondering who in the world would dare come to her home, refusing to give his name to her dear Stewart.
“No, ma’am. Not that I can recall.”
“Well, what does he look like?”
“Well, ma’am. Tall. Well-dressed. Dark as night—no offense, Sir.”
Nairobia scowled. “Thank you, Stewart. But you can send Mister Dark As Night on his way. He isn’t welcomed here.”
She hung up.
Seconds later, the phone rang again.
“Yes, Stewart?”
“I told you I’d find you, sexy,” a deep voice said into the phone. “Didn’t I tell you to be ready for me?”
Nairobia blinked. No. It couldn’t be. “Coal?”
“The one an’ only, baby.”
Her breath caught. “How’d you find me?”
He grinned. “I have my ways. I told you I have eyes everywhere.”
She found nothing flattering about a stranger showing up to her building, practically admitting to watching her. She didn’t like the predatory edge to his voice. “Are you stalking me?”
He laughed. “Nah, baby. I don’t stalk. I seek out. Come have dinner with me.”
Nairobia glanced at the time. It was nearing nine p.m. Oh, he was good and crazy to think she’d flounce herself out from the comforts of her home to dine with some stranger—even if said stranger was tall, dark, and dangerously handsome; even if she’d practically creamed on said stranger’s cock in the middle of a dance floor.
“I will do no such thing, my darling. You want to see me, you’ll have to return at a respectable hour and try again.”
His rich laugh boomed through the phone. “Oh, okay, okay. I see you, baby. And I tell you what. I’ll be back tomorrow. Noon. How’s that for respectable?”
“That’s a start,” she replied. “But still not acceptable. Perhaps I am not free for you at noon. Or any other time.”
“Then make time. We have some unfinished business. Don’t think I forgot how good you felt in my arms.”
She smiled. “Nor should you have.”
“Tomorrow. Noon,” he repeated. “Be ready for me.”
“Sorry, my love. I’ll be at the shooting”—she made sure to enunciate that part—“range.”
“That’s even better. I gotta big gun that needs to be fired off.”
“Good night.”
The line went dead.
THIRTY-FIVE
Squaring her shoulders, her hair swept into a sleek, side-parted ponytail, Nairobia sauntered out the sliding glass doors, wearing a black Emilio Pucci ruffled, one-shouldered sheath dress and a pair of black ankle-strap heels. She stepped out in the July heat, baring her long, sexy legs and smooth back. The look was chic. Classy.
She spotted him. Leaning up against the driver’s side door of a black Range Rover—watching her, in a white Gucci T-shirt and a pair of white jeans. The stark contrast against his dark skin was sexy. There was something about a deep, dark-chocolate man donned in all white that made her toes curl.
He smiled, his eyes appraising her as she strutted toward him, her oversized clutch tucked beneath her arm. “Damn, baby,” he murmured, stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. She turned her head, his lips suddenly catching the side of her mouth. “Damn, you smell good.” He took a step back, his dark brown gaze running up and down her body. “Damn, you sexy. But, uh, a little overdressed for the range, aren’t you?”
She tilted her head, lifting her black Dior shades. “No, I’m actually underdressed, my love.” And she’d meant that in every way. Sans a bra, she’d worn lace crotchless panties. Her gray eyes glinted. “Now, shall we go? I feel like shooting.”
He grinned. “No doubt, baby. You’re talking my talk.” He started toward the other side of the SUV, but stopped when Nairobia didn’t budge.
Hand on her hip, she pointed toward the rear passenger door. “I’ll sit in the back. Please and thank you, my love.” She had no intentions of sitting up front with a man she’d only met once, under a bunch of flashing lights, in the near darkness of a club.
No, no. She’d sit in back of him in case she needed to open her clutch and…well, it paid to be armed and ready. One could never be too safe nowadays.
He frowned. “You buggin’, right? You expect me to ride you ’round like I’m some chauffeur?”
She tilted her head. “You wish to be in my company, no?”
He narrowed his eyes. When he didn’t respond right away, she waved toward a sleek black Benz, the sun beaming down on its sunroof, and out stepped her driver, Samson. “As you can see, my darling. I do not need you to chauffeur me, anywhere. I’ll chauffeur you.”
And with that, she walked off.
He blinked. Then shook his head, and grinned. He was definitely digging her style. She was topnotch. Definitely the type of woman he wanted on his arm.
Word is bond, I’ma bag that…
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Well? Are you riding? Or shall I meet you there?”
He pressed the key fob and armed the alarm to his truck, then followed behind her, his eyes taking in the voluptuous and mouthwatering curves o
f her body.
Goddamn.
Samson tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Jansen.” She smiled, then kissed him on the cheek. “Good afternoon, my love. Samson, this here is…”
“Coal,” he answered for her. “What’s good?”
Samson gave him a courtesy head nod, but gritted his teeth as he eyed him slide his big body inside the cabin of the car.
Nairobia smiled. “Be nice,” she whispered, before sliding in after him. Samson shut the door behind her, then opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.
“Where to, Miss Jansen?”
“The shooting range, please.”
He nodded, then pulled away from the curb, adjusting his rearview mirror and eyeing the intruder in the backseat with his fantasy girl.
“So damn, baby. What’s good with you? I bet you thought I forgot about you, huh?”
Nairobia shifted, angling her body so she could take him in. “I’d actually forgotten all about you,” she said honestly. She wasn’t one to pine over a man for longer than a night, maybe two. After that, it was out of sight, out of mind for her.
He laughed. “Damn. Straight like that, huh? Cool, cool. I dig that. Well, I didn’t forget you, word is bond.”
Nairobia stared at the four-carat diamond in his ear, then glanced over the diamond-encrusted necklace around his neck, then skittered her gaze over the Rolex on his wrist. “What do you do for a living?” she asked.
He caught her gaze. “As I told you in Vegas, me an’ my uncle own several businesses. We have several detail shops and about eight Laundromats.”
She raised a brow. “Legitimate, no?”
“Oh no doubt.”
Samson’s gaze rose to the rearview mirror. Yeah right, motherfucker.
Coal met Samson’s gaze, and scowled. What the fuck, muhfucka? Hatin’-ass pussy.
“Hm.” Nairobia said. “And how many lovers do you take to your bed a night?”
He laughed. “Damn, baby. You don’t eff around, I see. You get right to it, huh?”
“Life is too short not to, my darling.”
“I feel you. I do my thing,” he said, stretching his arm along the back of the seat.
Nairobia gave him a look, then eyed his arm. “And what exactly is this thing you do?”
He grinned, then leaned into her ear, and said, “I’d rather show you than tell you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you a cunt licker, my darling?”
He frowned. “Nah, nah. Not my thing. I’ll beat that thing up, but I ain’t licking on it.”
Nairobia raised her brow. “But you like your”—she ran her hand over his crotch—“your cock licked, no?”
He spread his legs, and grinned. “No doubt, baby.”
Hm. Selfish lover, no?
He glanced up and caught Samson eyeing him again. His jaw clenched. “Yo, fam. We good up there? You keep eyeballin’ me an’ I ain’t diggin’ it. So wasssup? We got beef I don’t know about?”
“Nah,” Samson said stiffly. “No beef.”
“What, you tryna suck on this dick or sumthin’? Say yeah, so I can break your jaw, bruh.”
Nairobia’s breath hitched.
Samson frowned. “Not my thing, Sir.”
“Aiight, then. So how ’bout you keep ya eyes on the road an’ let me handle what’s going on back here.”
“Now, now. Play nice, my love.” She reached over and touched Coal’s knee. “Samson is protective, that’s all. As he should be.”
Coal’s nose flared. “Well, he ain’t gotta worry. You in good hands when you wit’ me, baby. Believe that. So how ’bout”—he reached over and pressed the privacy window’s button—“a little more privacy.” He eyed Samson as the window rolled up, cutting off his view.
Samson smirked, pressing a hidden button for the cabin’s monitoring system. He might not have been able to see what was going on, but he’d damn sure hear everything being said.
Once they arrived at the Rifle & Pistol Range, Samson opened the door and held his hand out for Nairobia, helping her out. “Thank you, my love.”
He gritted his teeth as Coal slid out of the car. He flicked a dollar bill at him. “Bitch-ass,” he mumbled low enough for him to hear.
Samson slammed the door, his jaw twitching.
Coal trotted up the stairs behind Nairobia, his eyes locked on her ass.
• • •
“Okay, baby, let’s see what you got,” Coal said smugly.
Safety goggles on, Nairobia tossed her hair over her shoulder. “No, my love, you first.” She stepped back to a safe distance.
Coal smirked. “Aiight, then,” he said, putting on his earmuffs. He aimed his Glock and fired six bullets into the Silhouette target. Three in the head, two in the heart, and one in each kneecap.
Coal stepped back, pulled off the earmuffs, then turned and faced Nairobia. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m warming up. Now let’s see what you got.”
Nairobia smiled, slipping her earmuffs over her ears. She stepped into the booth, and tossed her hair.
Coal licked his lips. Hands down, she looked smoking hot in her form-fitting dress and those sexy-ass heels with a gun in her hand.
He felt his dick harden.
Feeling his gaze on her ass, Nairobia raised her weapon and shot six bullets into a fresh target. All six in the center of its groin, causing Coal to wince and think twice if he’d planned on trying any funny business. She stepped back, then faced him, removing her earmuffs. “No worry, my love. I’m still warming up,” she mocked, smirking.
He laughed. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh? Oh, aiight, aiight. I got you, baby. Let’s go. It’s on now.” He stepped back in place, raised his gun and fired off, this time emptying his magazine into his target, each bullet—one after the other, bull’s-eye.
Nairobia walked up and kissed him on the cheek. “Impressive, my darling.”
Satisfied, he smirked. “Now let’s see your work, baby.”
Earmuffs back on, she raised her 9mm and shot another six rounds into another fresh target—all six bullets in the head, between the eyes. She pulled her earmuffs off, then removed her glasses.
Coal whistled. “Damn, you good, baby. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
She smiled. “A lady never kisses and tells, my darling.”
His eyes went liquid as he stared at the beautiful set of lips of hers. He licked his own, stepping forward and pulling her into his hard body. “You ain’t gotta tell me nothing, baby, but this: Do you kiss?”
She looked up at him. She didn’t say no, so he lowered his head and leaned in for a kiss. She moved her head, and he ended up kissing the corner of her mouth instead. Damn, twice already he’d tried to get those lips and she’d denied him.
He groaned in disappointment. He could almost taste her. Fuck, he wanted to taste her sweet lips. Wanted to know what that hot, wet tongue felt like against his. Wanted to feel—
“You have not earned my kisses.”
• • •
Nairobia and Coal returned two hours later, with the two of them standing outside her building, with cars and people streaming by. “Yo, I dug chillin’ with you. Wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, but it was kinda fly.”
“I enjoyed myself as well,” she said, meaning it. She didn’t bother asking what he’d actually expected. She was only interested in what she was willing to give.
Her gaze trailed over his body—hotly. She was tempted to invite him in for an afternoon romp, but thought better of it. Instead, she pulled him into her and whispered against his cheek, “You take care, my darling.” She kissed him there and hugged him, feeling his body heat matching her own.
He grabbed her by the waist to keep her from stepping back.
“It’s still early, baby. I’d hoped to have you to myself the whole day. No driver. Just you and me.”
She shook her head. “Not today, my love.” She stepped out of his embrace, and he shoved his hands down in his pants, trying
to conceal the thick bulge in his pants.
He sighed. “Damn, so you really gonna send me on my way?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, pressing the key fob to disarm his truck. “You sure?” He grinned, opening his door. “Going once, going twice…going once again…going twice again…”
Oh how tempted she was. Her body burned to know what his naked body felt like over hers. But her curiosity wasn’t strong enough to change the fact that she knew he’d come to her expecting for her to slide down on his cock, expecting to be pleasured by her, expecting her to be the good little whore. No, no. Nairobia whored on her own terms. She gave her sex to no one who expected it. Besides, he didn’t lick kut. Oh no. He could do nothing for her. She dare not ever give her good pussy to a selfish lover.
She waved him on. Then watched as he slid behind the wheel, started his engine, then shut the door. She walked off toward her building.
He rolled his window down. “Damn, baby. So when I’ma see you again?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and thought to say, “When you learn to pleasure a woman.” Instead, she settled on what he’d told her, “I’ll find you.”
The translation simple:
Don’t call me. I’ll call you.
THIRTY-SIX
Fierce and on fire, Nairobia stepped out of the elevator donned in a red corset and lace thong wearing a pair of six-inch pumps, holding a bullwhip in her right hand. She wasn’t sure what she planned on doing with the lash, but she knew she’d find a reason to make good use of it sometime before the night ended.
She sauntered through The Pleasure Zone’s first four levels, before making her way down and around the circular stairs. She looked up at the three cages hanging from the ceiling, and swallowed in the delicious sight of two women sixty-nining in the middle cage. The top one was a beautifully tanned blonde and the bottom one had rich ebony skin and a long tongue. The blonde’s ass was pulled open wide while her ebony lover slid her tongue in and out of her pink pussy, sweeping and seeking out her orgasm.
It was a splendid sight.
The cages on either side of the two orally obsessed women were lowered, the gates opened. Two naked, busty brunettes stepped inside the cage on the left with a six-foot-two, blond-haired Channing Tatum lookalike. Both women immediately dropped down to their knees and began laving his meaty cock and sucking his balls. Hands on hips, he threw his head back, his eyelids sweeping closed from the pleasure.
