The Pleasure Zone

by Cairo

Hell yeah, he thought of her. Ever since that night, there in her office, he’d thought about her. Shit. She’d been on his mind more than once, more than twice; almost every fucking waking moment she crossed his mind. That truth shocked and irked him. Lamar was pragmatic. Calculating. He thought everything out—first, before acting on it. He kept shit in check. He wasn’t impulsive. Being in his line of work being impulsive could get you—or someone else—killed. So he was always in control, of everything.

  Until now.

  Fuck. Somehow Nairobia had managed, in such a short time, to unravel every fucking thing he stood for, every goddamn thing he was. In all the years he’d been fucking, there hadn’t been a woman yet who tempted him to let go of his control the way she did.

  He didn’t know Nairobia. Didn’t know shit about this porn-star bitch. He knew of her, true. Through her films, through her books, and, now, through her club, but he didn’t know her.

  “Do you dream of fucking me?” Nairobia asked in a husky voice as she prowled over to him. The erotic aroma seeping from her pussy was making it hard for him to think straight. It was bad enough his brain, and blood, was already soaked in lust for her.

  She was fucking with him again. And he was in no mood for her fucking game playing. Not tonight.

  A low growl rumbled in Lamar’s throat and he swallowed it back as he rose abruptly and fisted her hair in hand, forcing her gaze up to his.

  “Stop fuckin’ wit’ me,” he growled.

  Nairobia took him by his wrist, bringing his free hand between her legs. Instinctively, Lamar cupped her there, the base of his hand against her clitoris.

  “Put your finger inside me. Feel how wet I am.”

  He slipped one finger between her folds and inside her.

  Nairobia’s pussy clenched. “Is that what you want”—she ran her hand over the front of his crotch, then grabbed his dick—“to fuck me?”

  Lamar’s jaws tightened, as did his grip on her hair. His finger moved in and out of her. She was so warm, so wet. “Yeah, I wanna fuck you.”

  Nairobia smiled, sending him a challenging stare. She palmed him again, squeezing his cock. “Then fuck me.”

  “Shit,” he hissed, feeling blood pump and pool into the shaft of his dick. His dick felt painfully tight strapped in by a jockstrap and boxer briefs. Why the fuck was she making him reckless? Why was he letting her? He’d never felt such an intense need to fuck, or experienced such a surge of…unbridled arousal.

  Nairobia’s lips curled up into a seductive grin. Her burning eyes scorching over his muscled body.

  Lamar’s chocolate eyes darkened to nearly black. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. There was no mercy in her eyes as she stroked his dick over his jeans, just lust. Sensations pounded all through his body.

  This shit was crazy. He couldn’t understand how or why she had this overwhelming effect on him. He’d told her week’s back that she was playing with fire. But standing here now, her gaze fierce and hot on him, his dick on the verge of exploding, he knew more than ever that she was the fire. And he was about to go up in her flames.

  FORTY

  “Spread your legs,” Lamar demanded as he removed his gun from his lower back and bent Nairobia over her desk and kicked at her ankles until she parted her smooth, silky thighs.

  He slapped her ass.

  “Yes, yes. Ram your cock inside me,” Nairobia hissed as Lamar opened his jeans and pulled his dick out of his underwear. She shook her ass, taunting him as she made each ass cheek pop. “Search and seize my kut. Fuck me, Lamar. Fuck me hard.”

  Lamar reached between her thighs and ripped off her thong, tossing it aside. Nairobia’s clit tingled at the aggressive act. She was driving him crazy with lust. She was everywhere he fucking breathed. He tasted her in his lungs. Felt her on his skin. His dick ached for her. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He needed in.

  He positioned the head of his dick at the mouth of her pussy. He let the tip rub up and down her wet slit, then penetrated her with one hard stroke. Nairobia let out a moan.

  “Ja, ja, ja…take my kut…fuck mijn zoete gat, mijn liefde…” Fuck my sweet hole, my love.

  With a jerk of his hips, Lamar pulled out and slammed back into her again.

  His hips ground against her ass. He spread her beautiful flesh open, and watched her juices soak his shaft as he slid in and out of her folds. “Aaaah, shit…”

  Pleasure and pressure built up inside his balls. He began thrusting hard and deep. Faster. Deeper. He was on the verge of coming already. No. Too fucking soon. “Aaaah, shiiit…”

  Lamar knew he needed to pull out before his nut erupted.

  But she felt so fucking good.

  Too good.

  Her pussy was so tight and creamy. His eyes rolled in his head. In all his years of fucking, he’d never felt anything so goddamn good in his life—her warm pussy grabbing him, exploding over him with each pulsing orgasm. He could feel his nut swelling and boiling low, filling his balls with an ache so powerful that he felt his body sizzling and his legs shaking. Withdrawing and slowly pushing back in, he slowed the pace, working his cock in and out of her pussy in slow, easy thrusts.

  Whap!

  Lamar slapped her ass. Slid out to just the tip, and slowly moved the head of his dick in and out of her slit. He watched in amazement how her muscles grabbed and slurped at his dickhead. He loved the way her sex sucked greedily at his cock. He wanted to fuck her pussy raw. Feel her wet heat and bust his nut in her guts again.

  Pleasure burned in his chest. He closed his eyes. And slammed back in, the head of his dick bumping her cervix. Feeling possessed, he growled. Groaned. Grunted.

  Slick sounds mingled with their panting breaths.

  “Fuckin’ bitch,” he hissed, slapping her ass again. He was in balls deep. But he couldn’t be in deeper. He wanted to be swallowed up in her wetness, drowned in her liquid heat. His thrusts kept coming faster…faster. Harder. She had him losing control. “Sweet whore pussy,” he murmured huskily in her ear. “You like feelin’ this thug dick up in you, huh? You like teasin’ muhfuckas…flauntin’ all this fat ass in muhfuckas’ faces, huh…?”

  His teeth sank into her shoulder. And Nairobia let out a long, erotic moan. She mewled out like a wildcat in heat. Her breasts bounced. Her nipples tightened. Her cunt pulsed. Ecstasy swept through her. She rocked her hips and pumped her pelvis in greed to get more of him inside her, gripping him hot, tightly, every thrust sending him and her spiraling closer to the edge. “Mmm,” she moaned, savoring the pleasure. “Geef me je harde lul…” Give me your hard cock.

  Tightening his hand on her hips, Lamar began fucking her in deep, hard strokes, his curved dick brushing over her walls. He couldn’t get enough of her lush body, her deep well of sensations. One thrust after another, banging harder, he couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything except…fire.

  An inferno blazing up around them.

  Whap!

  He slapped her ass again. Harder.

  Nairobia let out another moan as his hand left behind a heated sting that had her gasping. He leaned over and draped his hard chest over her and wrapped one arm around her quaking body. Her cunt opened to him, clutching and milking, growing wetter around him as he reached under and found her clit, distended, swollen, sensitive. He slammed in her. His heavy sac tightening as it slapped at the back of her pussy.

  He gripped her hips, demanding she hold still while he invaded her cunt with rapid-fire shallow plunges of his dickhead into her opening. He teased her there, and she gripped him as she reached back and spread open her magnificent ass—her heat and scent surrounding him, making him insane with need to nut in her. To take what he needed. Her pussy, her ass. To own her.

  He couldn’t believe how incredibly wet she was. He nearly burst with feverish need. Heat spread over his skin. Lamar bit at her neck, before slamming back inside her body. Nairobia still hadn’t given him the dick suck she’d promised him earlier. And he wanted inside her mo
uth.

  Now.

  But his dick was engulfed in so much of her heat that he couldn’t pull out. Her pussy entrapped him, her clutching walls holding his cock hostage. Nairobia rocked her hips back against him, glancing at him over her shoulder, seductively licking her lips, her gaze full of desire, full of hot need. She was burning up on the inside and wet enough, he could hear her juices splashing as he moved in her.

  She murmured something inaudible in Dutch, swiveling her hips, only sending him further over the edge of an orgasm. She pulsed inside and all around him, driving him mad. His dick loved the feel of her, but he hated her. He’d never been inside a woman—any woman—and wanted to stay inside her hot wet hole all day and all night, fucking her, stroking her.

  Fuckin’ dick-teasin’ sorceress bitch!

  Pussy so muthafuckin’ good!

  Lamar’s eyes rolled back in his head again. “Aaah, shit…aaah, muthafuck…this muthafuckin’ pussy…uhhh…” His thighs shook from the endless thrusting, his dick was so hard it ached. Nairobia egged him on, whispering dirty words in Dutch, taunting him from over her shoulder.

  A spasm wracked Lamar’s entire body. He quickly pulled out, leaving her aching and empty. “Get on your knees and suck my dick,” he growled, his eyes watering from the rush of sensations. He wanted to bust in her mouth.

  But it was too late.

  Before he could get his condom off, he came with a rush, with a fierce spasm, a force so powerful that his entire body shook.

  Nairobia laughed to herself. Silly man he was.

  Demanding she kneel and suck his cock. Ha. She knelt before no man. And she sucked when she wanted, not when summoned.

  Nairobia looked at him, taking him in—all of him, standing there, his eyelids fluttering, his chest heaving, his jeans open and shoved down, his sheathed cock exposed, wet and sticky, and curving to the right. What a delicious sight.

  So decadent.

  So masculine and erotic.

  Lamar stumbled back and collapsed into one of her office chairs. She smiled slow and easy and seductive, then leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss over his lips. Lamar’s brain was mush. He couldn’t see or think straight.

  Nairobia sauntered off toward the bathroom, her juices sliding down the inside of her thighs—leaving her heat and musky scent and him sitting there, dazed and confused.

  Lamar closed his eyes, and shook his head as his pulse finally steadied.

  He knew.

  He was in too deep.

  Beyond the point of no return.

  And in some serious fucking trouble.

  Shit.

  FORTY-ONE

  A few days later, Nairobia was snuggled into Marcel’s sofa, her bare feet curled underneath her as she stared at the flames flickering in his fireplace. It was the middle of a sweltering July, but never too hot for a gorgeous fire.

  Marcel stepped into the room barefoot in a pair of lounge pants, and settled onto the sofa beside her. He pulled Nairobia into his arms and she snuggled against him.

  She gave a soft sigh, then lay against his bare chest, the top of her head resting just underneath his chin. Marcel pulled her in closer, and breathed her in. She smelled of mangos and coconut. He loved the way she smelled. He ran his hand up the length of her arm and pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling even as he kissed her head. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. He wanted to stay like this for as long as humanly possible, just breathing her in.

  He’d needed to see her.

  And she’d wanted him to.

  They hadn’t seen each other since the night they’d had dinner, several weeks ago. Between her travels back and forth to L.A., the club, and her other engagements. She’d also been very busy…avoiding Marcel.

  But tonight, she’d finally decided to make time for him.

  Surprisingly, she’d finally admitted to herself that she really did enjoy his company. That he called to a part of her soul that frightened her. He made her feel things she never fathomed. But she couldn’t lose herself in him.

  In doing so, she feared she’d lose everything, her voice; every part of who she was. And she wouldn’t allow that.

  Marcel had told her over dinner to stop running from him. But Nairobia wasn’t running. She was simply preserving, protecting herself. Self-preservation was all she had. It was what had kept her from heartache thus far. Letting go of it would make her susceptible to getting hurt.

  A man had already sliced her in the heart once in her life. She vowed to never, ever, allow another man free reins to her heart. Maybe her years as a porn star had made her too detached, incapable of fully loving anyone other than herself.

  But she felt something for Marcel, a fluttering in her heart.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite put a finger on it, couldn’t quite describe what the feeling was. She just knew it was there, chipping away at her.

  And she didn’t like it.

  “I’m not her,” Nairobia finally said, breaking the momentary silence between them. Her voice was barely a whisper as she glanced over at the sixteen-by-twenty oil painting of Marika hanging on the wall. “I’ll never be.”

  “I don’t want you to be,” Marcel said earnestly, following her gaze. “I want you to be you. That sexy, beautiful, free-spirited woman you are. That’s whom I’m attracted to, baby. That’s whom I want to spend my time with. Not some facsimile of my wife. There was—and will always be—only one Marika. I’m not looking for another.”

  Nairobia turned her eyes from the stunning portrait and gazed directly at Marcel.

  “Then what are you really looking for?”

  Marcel inhaled sharply, scrubbing his hand over his face. He thought he’d already made it clear what he wanted. He wasn’t into the dating game. He actually felt out of touch. And the prospect of being on some online dating site was something he couldn’t wrap his mind around. The thought of dating after having been married for so long actually made him uneasy. And he wasn’t into multiple sex partners—anymore. Well, not really. Well, he hadn’t been since Marika’s death. And he seriously doubted he ever would be again.

  “I’m looking for someone who I can spend my life with. Someone whom I can travel the world with, someone I can wake up to, make love to, and fuck whenever, wherever, however.” He smiled at her. “I’d like to think I already found what I’m looking for. You.”

  Nairobia sucked in her breath and let it out in a long exhale as she tried to picture herself spending the rest of her life with him—with anyone, for that matter.

  She couldn’t see it. And it saddened her. It simply wasn’t there. And she couldn’t force something that wasn’t obtainable.

  “I can’t do—”

  Marcel put his hand up to stop her.

  “Ssh. Please. Don’t say anything right now. Think on it. I’ll give you all the time and space you need. No pressure.”

  There was nothing to think about. This couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen.

  “Mar—”

  He leaned over and covered her mouth with a kiss, shutting her up. When he finally pulled away, she had to catch her breath.

  “Baby,” Marcel began and paused. Nairobia’s heart stopped. Whatever words would come next, she knew for certain her entire world would most likely never be the same again once they were spoken.

  She braced herself. “Yes?”

  “Je t’aime…”

  Let me love you.

  FORTY-TWO

  Marcel wasn’t used to being put on hold by anyone—not for long, anyway. He’d told Nairobia to think about what he’d wanted from her.

  To love her.

  He said he’d give her space, while she thought it over.

  But that was close to fucking three weeks ago.

  He hadn’t considered she’d take her slow, sweet-ass time. A few days, tops, should have been sufficient enough for her to decide whether or not she wanted to pursue more with him. It wasn’t a difficult question. He hadn’t asked her to marry him, or to jum
p off a cliff with him. So what the fuck was the problem?

  And why was she avoiding him?

  This waiting-around shit was driving him crazy.

  He grunted, shaking his head. Look at you, man. Obsessing over a damn woman. Pull your shit together. If she ain’t beat for you, then let that shit go…

  He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. The problem was, he didn’t want to let go. He wanted her. No one else.

  Nairobia was the one, the only one for him.

  He knew that. Felt it in every part of his soul. Marika…

  He looked up toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes.

  She’d come to him in a dream, and had given him permission to find love again. She wanted him to be happy. And to be with someone who would, could, love him for the man he was.

  Marika had been the only woman who had done exactly that. Loved every part of him. And he knew no one would ever love him in the way she had. And he also knew he’d probably never be able to love another woman as deeply as he had her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving again.

  He wanted love.

  He still had so much more of it to give.

  And he had a big, hard dick with lots of nut that he wanted to share with someone special. He didn’t want random pussy from a bunch of faceless women. He wanted to be able to look in a woman’s eyes and see, feel, the pleasure he was giving her every time he touched her, looked at her, or simply made love to her.

  He didn’t want a woman he had to fuck, simply because she wasn’t someone he found worthy of being made love to. He wanted substance. Something meaningful. What he wanted was a love of his own.

  Was that too much to ask for?

  Marcel sighed.

  Shit. Maybe it was too much to ask for.

  Hell. He was starting to think maybe something was wrong with him. He was motherfucking Marcel Kennedy reigning over an entire empire of music and media. He was the motherfucking man. He had sex appeal, a large bankroll, and mad swag. Hell, his motherfucking name rang bells in the industry. He could have any woman he wanted. He knew this. Hell, he’d bedded down some of the baddest ones out there. His name and his dick always made lasting impressions.