CHAPTER 27
Troy came home, causing rattling and clatter as he put the lock in place on the front door. Startled from sleep, Misty sat up, staring into the dark at Troy’s stumbling silhouette as he bumped into furniture, and kicked over a wastebasket.
“What’s wrong with you, Troy?”
“Nothing. I’m cool,” he said in a slurred voice. He staggered to the bathroom. The sound of his piss stream was loud and furious.
“You better not be splashing piss against the wall. And there better not be a drop on the damn toilet seat, either,” Misty ranted. “Can’t hold no liquor…drunk-ass mufucka.” She looked at Sailor, who was sleeping next to her. Knocked out from good coochie, his sleep uninterrupted by the disturbance.
Zipping his pants, Troy stumbled back into the main room that served as bedroom, living room, and kitchen.
“You didn’t even flush the damn toilet…or wash your nasty-ass hands.”
“My bad.” Satisfying Misty, he turned around and went back into the bathroom.
She wanted to hear all the events of the night, and was particularly interested in learning how Spydah behaved. “Troy! I know you ain’t fall asleep in there.” Misty jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. As suspected, Troy was passed out. Snoring, he was curled in a ball on the soft, oval rug.
“Worthless fucker.” She kicked him and left him on the floor.
She couldn’t call Lennox for information. Uncle Freaky would have a fit. She’d be so glad when she could get all her workers together with her under one damn roof.
Misty checked the time. Three in the morning. She wondered if Spydah was still at the after-party. She couldn’t get any information out of Troy so she figured she might as well go straight to the source.
She called Larry.
He answered on the first ring. “Whassup, Misty?” His voice was raised. Loud music pumped in the background.
“Hi, Larry. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“What did you say?” Larry asked. The music was so loud, he couldn’t hear her.
“Is Spydah available?” she yelled.
“Yeah, his show was fyah, but he’s a lil’ down right now. Hearing your voice might cheer my man up. Hold on for a minute.”
With the phone to her ear, she listened as the sounds of boisterous voices and thumping music grew distant.
“Hello.” It was Spydah. Apparently he’d gone to a quiet spot. There was no loud music and no party atmosphere sounds.
“Hey, baby,” Misty purred.
“What happened to you?” She heard the disappointment in his voice.
“I’m really sorry that I missed your show…and the party. But I wasn’t feeling good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Cramps. But I feel much better now.”
“The party ain’t over. You can still slide through if you want to.”
“No, I’m not in the mood for a lot of people. I’d rather be alone with you.” Misty used a pouting tone that was always to her advantage when she engaged in the art of seduction.
“I feel the same way. Fuck this party. You wanna meet me back at the hotel? I can hop in the limo. What’s your address?”
A limo ride would be on point, but she couldn’t risk Spydah glimpsing her run-down neighborhood.
“I’ll meet you at your hotel in forty-five minutes,” she offered.
A quick shower would wash away Sailor’s scent. Lipstick and a little blush was the only makeup required for a booty call. At this hour of the night, there’d be hardly any traffic on I-76.
“I’ll be there in thirty,” Spydah boasted. Misty could picture him smiling… grinning like a happy little boy.
Her breathing increased by the thrill of seduction. She was a tigress. And Spydah was her prey. Without a doubt, Misty was that bitch. She could melt the hardest heart…had always had that effect on niggas.
Her conceited smile faded. Except for that frontin’-ass Brick. Since her mother had entered the picture, she couldn’t do shit with Brick. But that all would change once she had her money right. It was simply a matter of time.
Two bottles of champagne were chilling. Spydah lifted a bottle from the confining chips of ice. Never taking his eyes off of Misty, he popped the cork and filled two flutes.
“You look good in red.” Admiringly, Spydah’s eyes moved over Misty’s clingy dress.
I look good in every color, mufucka, she thought, but whispered, “Thanks,” as she accepted the drink.
“This is delicious,” she said after swallowing. “But…”
“But what?”
“I bet you taste a lot better.”
Charmed and taken off guard, Spydah glanced away. He bit his bottom lip; a faint frown flitted across his face as if he was somewhat troubled by the way Misty had flipped the script.
“You gon’ let me find out?” she pressed breathily.
Flattered and stunned, he muttered, “Hell, yeah. But…uh…you fuckin’ with my head right now. I’m a lil’ tipsy from the party, yo. This ain’t how I handle mine.”
“I know. But tonight, I want you to relax. Let me take care of you? Can you do that?”
“Aw, damn. You on some other shit. I ain’t have no idea that this whack-ass night was gon’ end on a sweet note.”
I got this nigga going. Misty took a couple more swigs of champagne, but kept a watchful eye on Spydah’s every move and his expression. Thrown off balance by the speed of her seduction, he fidgeted under the spotlight of her gaze.
Misty realized her game was tight. She had an advantage and refused to give Spydah a chance to regain his composure.
A few steps across the room and she was standing in front of him. Her delicate hand removed the flute from his grasp.
Speechless, he stood helplessly while she roughly unsnapped and unzipped his pants.
He stepped out of the denim that pooled around his ankles. Kicked off his sneakers. His hardening dick sliced through the slit of his boxers, twitching with desire.
“Take your shirt off.” Her raspy tone was persuasive.
In split-seconds, the T-shirt was over his head and tossed on top of his jeans and sneakers.
CHAPTER 28
Misty pulled on the elastic waistband of his boxers and let it snap back, giving a sting to his flesh. Spydah squeezed his eyes closed, as if savoring the sharp sensation.
She did it again. Harder.
He moaned. “Damn, girl. What kind of shit is you into?”
“Take ’em off,” she whispered. “Get naked for me.”
If there was any part of him that resisted being told what to do, it wasn’t apparent. Giving into the moment, Spydah came out of his boxers and stood naked, waiting for the next command. His tightly closed eyes were the only indication that he might be somewhat embarrassed.
She brushed her palm down the soft hair on the center of his chest. He flinched as if her touch was electricity.
Next, she rubbed the diamond on her pinky ring over each nipple, making his nipples tighten, making his dick flex, and causing him to tremble. Spydah’s eyelids fluttered open.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she softly urged. With her hands gripping his forearms, she turned him around.
He peered over his shoulder. “Whatchu doing?” His voice was faint and thin. And without much fight.
“Shh. I wanna admire your whole body. Front and back.”
Spydah’s back was narrow but defined with youthful muscles that didn’t require putting in time at the gym. He had a small, but perfectly formed ass.
She touched his skin. Sexual heat emanated from his flesh.
Misty reached in the ice bucket and picked up a chunk of ice, and ran a chilly trail down the center of his back.
Fiercely determined to withstand the frozen caress, Spydah stood erect, fists balled at his sides.
Without warning, she licked the water that trickled down his spine.
“Ah,” he groaned, arching his back when her tongue
swiped against his skin.
Then she delivered teasing little licks from his back down to the crack of his butt.
He clenched up. “Yo, I ain’t into all that,” he mumbled, though his tone was weak, lacking strength and authority.
Ignoring his weak objection, Misty guided him toward the table where the champagne was chilling. With her palm flattened against the center of his back, she eased him down until his forehead rested upon the oak table.
From her purse, she extracted a container of gel, and moistened a finger.
Spydah gasped; his body jerked as she caressed the ridged flesh of his asshole. Gritted teeth, clenched butt cheeks trapping her searching finger.
“Relax, baby,” she encouraged in a satiny tone.
“I can’t.”
“Trust me, Spydah. I don’t want any barriers between us.” Her voice was a caress.
“Yeah, but—”
“Let’s explore our sexuality…together.” Lowering herself down to her knees, she pressed her lips against his naked buttocks; each kiss made him jerk and moan as if she was burning the image of her lips onto his skin.
She kissed a hot trail toward the seam of his ass. Gently, cooing softly, she separated his butt cheeks and inserted her tongue.
Beneath the quick flicks of her tongue, his body twisted and writhed. His groans were anguished cries and he succumbed to passion. Now his hips moved in slow circles of bliss. As he accepted the pleasure of her sucking kisses, and hot, licking strokes, the sound of his moans were a mixture of agony and ecstasy.
With a sleight of hand, her middle finger replaced her tongue and eased into the slippery but tight entrance, determinedly seeking the walnut-shaped, male pleasure spot. Using the pad of her finger, she massaged his prostate gland until he panted with pleasure.
A smile formed on her sensual lips. You mine, nigga. You might as well get used to it.
Continuing her dominant role, she gave him head, but stopped before he busted a nut.
She sauntered over to the bed, wriggled her tight dress up, sat down, and spread her legs.
Spydah’s hard dick pulled him in Misty’s direction. She shook her head.
“What?” A frown flitted across his face.
She patted her pussy. “You want this?”
“Yeah.” He steadied his throbbing dick by gripping it at the head.
“Crawl.”
“Huh. You buggin’?”
“If you really wanted it, you’d get it any way you could. Run…climb…or crawl.”
“Come on with that crawling shit. You taking this too far.”
She pressed her knees together. “You performed tonight. You gave it your all but now it’s only you and me. You can be yourself with me. Forget about that hardcore nigga you portray when you cussing and stomping around on stage. Let’s get lost in a fantasy. Crawl for this pussy. Ain’t nobody here but you and me.”
Misty locked eyes with Spydah. She parted her thighs a little. She slid a finger between her legs. She withdrew it, taunting him with sticky moisture before tasting her flavor.
“Umph.” That one note spoke volumes. A throaty admission that he’d do anything to please her.
“Come on, baby. Come and get this.”
As if he’d collapsed, Spydah dropped. For a few seconds, his body was still.
“Crawl for me, baby,” Misty insisted.
He moved into a crouching position. Then…like a stalking lion, he crawled across the floor.
His journey complete, he buried his head between her legs, gasping desperately as he licked and sucked.
With a smirk shaping her lips, Misty pushed his head away.
“I wanna ride you.”
Spydah didn’t protest. He lay flat on his back, his arousal intense as his arms reached for her, and then gripped her slender hips as she straddled him.
Expertly, Misty grasped the base of Spydah’s shaft and guided his iron hardness into her pussy that was drenched from his lapping tongue.
Feeling powerful, Misty looked down at Spydah. He looked tortured as he battled against an orgasm with every thrust.
She bent over, cupping his cute face, calming him with kisses. “Don’t fight it, Spydah. I wanna feel your hot seed splashing inside me.”
“Nah, I’m staying in this. Gotta kill this pussy.” Sweating, veins popping, temples throbbing, Spydah buried his manhood inside her, pumping dick…desperately…as if each stroke had the potential to save his life.
She nibbled along his earlobe.
“That feels good,” he whispered.
Another weak spot. Determined to conquer him, she grazed his neck with her teeth and then licked the salty skin. All the while, her pussy became more heated…sputtering and slippery…driving Spydah out of his mind.
“Let it go,” she coaxed.
He tensed. Growled in defeat. Grasping hands braced her hips as he discharged with the force of a tidal wave.
CHAPTER 29
Having traveled by limo, Misty joined Spydah as he celebrated the release of his CD at the new Pink Elephant Club in New York. Chilling at their VIP table, Misty basked in the joy of being in the posh, upscale environment that she so deserved.
Tomorrow night, he was scheduled to perform at Madison Square Garden, continuing as an opening act for Smash Hitz. But now that his CD was out and climbing the charts, Spydah’s fan base was quickly growing. It was merely a matter of time before he became a headline act.
The celebrity-packed venue was large and luxurious. She recognized the familiar faces that she’d only seen on film or on TV. There were tons of people from the music industry milling about.
Spydah was meeting many of the celebrities for the very first time. Courteously, he introduced Misty to all of his high-profile guests.
Excluding Larry, Spydah’s goon squad looked out of place in the high-class Pink Elephant. They must have felt like the outcasts that they were because they were guzzling liquor like there was no tomorrow. Tragic glared at Misty…looking jealous…like he should have been cozied up next to Spydah. His resentment was so strong, she swore she could smell it. His hot funk was stinking up the place.
Fuck you, Tragic! She sent the angry minion a beaming smile.
Angrily, he wiped liquid from his lips and smirked as he gripped his crotch, mouthing, “I got something for you.”
Bring it, nigga. Misty taunted Tragic with a fluttery finger wave. And a wink. Pissed off, Tragic’s lips moved rapidly as he muttered obscenities or perhaps he was working on one of his whack rhymes. Who knew and who the fuck cared? Sneering, she gave Tragic her middle finger.
“Misty, I want you to meet somebody.” She turned away from Tragic’s contorted mug, expecting to finally meet Smash Hitz. Instead of seeing Smash’s famous face, she found herself face-to-face with a mature man who was wearing glasses and a suit. The phoniness of his reptilian smile informed her that he was no friend of Spydah’s. Nor was he a friend of hers.
“Meet Adam Sorrell…my business manager,” Spydah said proudly. “Adam, this is my girl, Misty.”
Misty and Adam read each other well. The handshake they shared was more like an agreement to play nice just for tonight. Misty fully intended to get all up in Spydah’s financial affairs and find out what the fuck was what. This fucking crook of a manager might be able to get over on Spydah, but he was going to have to show her some paperwork. Explain to her how one and one equals three, goddamnit.
“I was telling Spydah that I’m about to finalize a deal…Spydah’s going to be the face of Banana Republic’s new urban clothing line,” Adam boasted.
“Spydah’s going to have to give that endorsement some serious thought before he signs on the dotted line,” Misty asserted.
“Yo, whatchu saying?” Spydah was shocked by Misty’s forwardness.
“This is quite an achievement for an artist whose debut album recently dropped.”
“What would be better, Spydah…hawking someone else’s clothing line or starting your own?�
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“Uh…I’ll take it whatever way it comes,” Spydah said, laughing.
“You have your own unique way of dressing. I think you should consider starting your own fashion line.”
Though Adam smiled and nodded indulgently, Misty could tell he didn’t appreciate her interference. Judging by the way his glasses were fogging up, the mufucka was steaming.
And he had good reason to be upset. She’d given the arrogant business manager a glimpse into the inner workings of her mind. He was lucky she’d given him a heads-up that her petite frame and pretty face was merely a façade. She could have given him a sneak attack. Could have concealed her hard-as-nails interior before he had a chance to defend himself.
But Misty loved a good fight. Appreciated a worthy opponent.
It’s on, slime ball.
Growing antsy, the goon squad couldn’t hold back any longer. Mustafa, Jru, and Tragic began popping bottles of champagne. Celebrities were spared, but they sprayed anyone who didn’t have a recognizable face.
When Spydah began his performance, the girls who were still outside waiting to get beyond the velvet rope started screaming, yelling to be allowed admittance inside the club.
Attracted to chaos and mayhem, Tragic went outside, taking it upon himself to speak on Spydah’s behalf, selecting girls who could come inside. Most of the girls who were allowed admission had big, protrusive butts, Misty noticed.
Tragic pulled in one wild heathen, who really showed her ass when she got inside the club. Somehow, she managed to swerve her big ass past the security team that was busy inspecting purses. Wearing a dark-colored weave that hung to her waistline, she elbowed her way in front of a cluster of the girls who had made it inside before her. Stomping on their fresh pedicures, she caused a chorus of yelps and screams.
Then, adding insult to injury, the brazen, weave-wearing barracuda pulled a Lil’ Mama, and jumped on stage with Spydah.
Misty and Adam gasped. In agreement, they were equally outraged at the audacity of the groupie.
Adam frantically waved for security to do something, but Spydah looked like he was having fun.
The groupie could dance exactly like Spydah…was in sync with all his moves…she knew every word to his new song…rapping with him and throwing her own animated flow that complemented his rhymes. Then she twirled away, dancing solo…dropping it low, enticing Spydah with big booty shaking…inviting him to get up on it.
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