Between the Sheets (9781476775807) (9 page)

He's on three years' probation.

And they're both being sued.

Now this shit.

In the blink of an eye, this musical heartthrob,
Billboard
topper is becoming a pain in my muthafuckin' ass.

“What'd he do this time?”

“Oh, it's ugly,” she says grimly. “He slashed Elena Mitchell's tires and then swung a hammer at her, threatening to bash her face and knock her eye sockets in.”

My nose flares. Elena Mitchell is his on-again, off-again girl and another R&B singer who'd won season three of
The Voice
.

“There's a restraining order on him and his bail is set at a two hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars. What do you want to do?”

I frown. “What the fuck you mean, what I wanna do? Not a muthafuckin' thing. Let his muthafuckin' ass stay there. If the muhfuckas in his posse can't bail his ass out, fuck him. I'll deal with him when I get back to the East Coast. Until then, I don't wanna hear shit else about that dumb muhfucka. Got it? Get it? Good.”

I end the call.

“Who was that?” Marika questions as she's walking into the sitting area of our master suite. She's fully dressed in a sexy lil' skirt and matching jacket. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

“Just some work shit,” I say, tossing my cell over on the leather chaise.

She slides her four-carat studs into her ears, screwing on the backs while staring at me through the mirror. “Okay. Not another word. But judging by the bulging vein in the center of your forehead and the one stretching along your neck, it must be serious. And if it has anything to do with that idiot J-Smooth getting arrested early this morning in Atlanta, you need to think about cutting your losses with that one. He's a walking time bomb.”

I give her a surprised look, and ask her how she found out before I did.

“Where else? Social media. It's all over Facebook and Twitter. And I just got the heads-up from one of my assistants who is also a borderline stalker of his.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Figures. Yeah, I'm thinkin' I'ma have'ta snatch that muhfucka's contract. I'ma have legal take a look at it when we get back to see if there's a morality clause or some shit we can execute to cut him the fuck off. This shit with him is getting fuckin' ridiculous. He's starting to feel like dead weight right about now. This dumb niggah rather turn up in the clubs ‘n' knock women upside the fuckin' head than make good albums ‘n' get this paper.”

“He's too much of a risk,” she says casually, gliding a coat of lip-gloss over her cherry-red-painted lips. “Unless he can get his act together, it'll be for the best in the long run.” She walks over and leans in, kissing me on the lips. “Besides, you don't need the headache.”

My gaze flickers up and down the back of her smooth, shiny legs as her ass bounces away from me. “Yo, Hold up. Where you going showin' off them pretty-ass legs ‘n' with all that ass bouncin'?”

“To get my hair and nails done for tonight,” she says matter-of-factly over her shoulder. “There's a posh new salon over in Beverly Hills that everyone here and back home is raving about. The owner has a salon here and in Jersey. But the one here is supposed to be real upscale.”

“Yeah, aiight. How much is this upscale outing gonna cost me?”

She laughs. “You're off the hook this time. It's my own treat.”

“Oh, aiight, then. Go do you, sexy.”

“I plan to.”

“Yeah, aiight. And you better have on drawz, yo.”

She laughs, giving me a dismissive wave as she heads out the door.

Marika

Hair done. Nails done. Feet done. Facial done. My experience at the exclusive salon, Nappy No More II, was more than an experience. It was a pleasurable adventure. Now I'm in my fourth boutique on Rodeo Drive trying on dresses for tonight's
fuck
tivities.

The problem is, Marcel is here with me.

And as much as I love spending time with my husband, this man is impossible to shop with. Time is ticking. And I still haven't found the perfect dress. Yet, here I am—seven dresses hanging on hooks, three others tossed over on the bench—braless, inside a dressing room with Marcel standing in back of me, his tongue trailing down my spine. His strong hands cup my breasts, his fingers tweaking my nipples. He stares at me through the mirror. “Damn, you so fuckin' sexy, baby.
Je une chatte.
” I want some pussy.

I gasp and writhe and whimper. I know enough by looking in his eyes that he wants to fuck me. That he wants me right here, right now.

“Mar
Sell
, you're gonna get us…caught…in here.”

“So. What they gonna do? Arrest me for fuckin' my wife?”

I shake my head. Try to wriggle out of his embrace. “Not here, baby. We have—”

He presses in close. Licks the back of my neck. Nips it. Causing me to forget my train of thought, to lose my senses.

“Uhh, ooh…you have to stop…mmm…”

I hear voices on the other side of the door, coming closer. I blink. Find my voice of reason. “Baby, someone's coming.”

“Yeah, you'll be
coming
in a minute.”

“No, I'm serious.”

He grins. “So am I.”

“But—”

“Shhhh.” He turns me to face him and quiets me with his mouth. His warm lips parting my own as his tongue slowly melts away my hesitation. He breaks our kiss, only to step back.

A warm rush of wet passion pulses between my legs as he unbuttons the top button of his jeans, unzips his fly, revealing a vee of smooth, taut skin covered in wisps of dark hair. He doesn't have on any underwear. I swallow, drinking in the sight of him as he pushes his jeans down, over his hips.

Right here. In the dressing room, his dick stretching and thick.

Within seconds, I am in front of the mirror, bent over, the flimsy gown bunched up at my waist, the head of Marcel's dick easing into me.

The heat grows, blossoms, then explodes as he strokes his dick into me. I feel him swelling, pulsing, inside me. Stretching the seams of my pussy.

I hear myself scream.

Hear the wetness of my cunt.

Hear the thrusting of Marcel's dick.

Hear the low grunts and groans lodged in the back of Marcel's throat.

Hear the saleswoman talking to someone on the other side of the door.

“Oooh, yes, yes, yes…”

Oh God, yessss!

Yes, yes, yesssss!

I swallow another scream just as there's a soft knock on the door. Marcel rolls his hips into me, his dick sliding in and out, pressing in balls deep, then out to the tip.

“Oooh…”

There's another knock. “Mrs. Kennedy? Is everything all right in there?”

“Uhh…”

“Mrs. Kennedy?”

The doorknob jiggles.

I look up into the mirror. My face is distorted. A film of sweat coats my skin. My freshly done hairdo is slowly becoming undone. “Yes,” I manage to squeak out. “I'm good. Give me a sec, oh, uh, ohhhkaaaay? I'll be done in a minute.”

Marcel grins, eyeing me through the mirror. “You love this dick, baby?” His voice is a hushed whisper.
“Dis-moi que tue aimes il.”

He tells me to tell him how much I love it. His dick.

“Are you sure?” the saleswoman inquires.

My eyes roll up in my head. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I'm sure.”

“Okay,” she says, “if you need any help. Let me know. I'll be up front.”

Marcel reaches around me and plays with my clit. His dick strokes are slow and methodical. He fucks into my flesh; fucks into my soul.

“T-thanks,” I mewl, sounding like a screeching cat in heat.

Marcel's dick plunges into my cunt, in and out, each stroke stretching my walls and sending waves of pleasure through my body. My pussy clenches.

Oh God.

Oooh he's fucking me so good. A tidal wave of carnal need washes over me, causing me to throw my hips back at him. I fuck him back. My ass bounces and shakes around him.

“Yeah, that's my baby. Fuck this dick, baby…Give me that wet pussy…”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Then he is out of me again, his dick long and wet; my pussy wet and aching and greedy. My body shakes with want and need. Goddamn him!

He swiftly turns me, backs me into the mirror, lifts me up by the hips, and sits me on the head of his dick. The mouth of my cunt opens wide as he eases me down on him.

I hook my arms around his neck. Gasp. Marcel cups my ass. And makes love to me.

“Vous aimez cette bite, pas vous?”

Love
and
dick
is all I can decipher.

Marcel repeats himself in English. “You love this dick, don't you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…,” I whimper.

He growls in my ear.
“Je vais venir dans ta chatte humide, bébé.”

A groan slips from between my lips as I wrap my legs around him. “Please tell me what you just said, baby.”

He digs his nails into my ass cheeks. “I said I'm gonna
come
in your wet pussy, baby. You want me to nut, huh, baby? Mmm…uh…fuuuck…you want this nut…?”

His words are like kerosene, igniting flames inside of me. Decadent heat and pleasure quakes through me as my own orgasm swells.

My cunt clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again. It spasms around Marcel's cock, and gets wetter and hotter with each stroke. His strokes get deeper and faster.

He is on the verge of coming.

I am on the border of an orgasm as well. Marcel is fucking me closer to the edge. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and bounce up and down on his dick, taking in every bit of his length as he hits the bottom of my well.

I can hear the saleswoman as she returns to the fitting room area, checking in on someone else. I hear the other woman call out and say she is fine.

I moan.

Marcel moans.

The saleswoman knocks on the door again. “Mrs. Kennedy, are you sure you don't need any help in there?”

Marcel's long fingers delve inside my crack. He presses into my asshole. Everything inside of me erupts. “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I'm sure. I'm
com
…ing…mmm…right out.”

“All right.”

“That's right, baby. Let me get that nut,” Marcel murmurs into my neck. “Pussy so fuckin' good.” He growls low. Then bites into my shoulder. And unloads a thick river of heated pleasure inside of me.

I cling onto him. Kissing him. Milking him.

Five minutes later, his dick plops out of me. He lowers me to the floor. Then plants one last kiss on my lips, before lifting his pants up from around his ankles and stuffing himself back inside.

“Let's get home so we can finish this up.” He grins, opening the dressing room door and slipping out, leaving me wet, disheveled, and deliciously fucked.

Marika

The black-suited driver rolls the stretch Bentley with its tinted windows through the ornate iron gates of the Beverly Hills mansion where tonight's extravaganza will take place. He slowly pulls in front of its circular driveway, then stops the car and slides out of the driver's seat, walking around to open the door for Marcel and me.

Marcel leans over and kisses me lightly on the cheek. He takes in my white draped, sleeveless Azzaro Capricieuse jewel dress with its plunging V-neckline and long slit in the middle, revealing my inner thigh. I'm wearing the six thousand-dollar dress—that is sure to catch the eye of many of tonight's elite guests, shakers and movers in the movie and music industry as well as some well-known sports figures—with a pair of white Valentino Garavani six-inch, rock-stud sandals.

His gaze drops down to my perky nipples peeking from underneath the thin fabric of my dress, then onto my smooth, shimmering thighs.

He licks his lips. “Damn. You look sexy as fuck, baby.”

I smile, breathing in the scrumptious scent of his cologne, Creed Royal Oud. Every time he wear this, it drives me wild. “Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself.” The glint in the diamond studs in his earlobes is blinding. He's donned in an elegant, black-fitted Valentino suit with a matching pair of loafers. “And you smell delicious, I might add.” My hand slides between his legs, finding his meaty dick. I gently massage it until it starts to thicken.

“Yo, c'mon, baby,” he says, grinning while trying to pull away. “You better stop before shit gets serious back here ‘n' I end up ripping that dress off you ‘n' beatin' that fat pussy up in this backseat.”

“Ooh, yes, daddy,” I coo into his ear. “Beat this pussy up. Fuck it until it stretches and burns. I want to feel you still inside of me throbbing and pulsing long after you've pulled out.”

Marcel leans in, and whispers, “Hold tight, baby. By the end of the night, I promise. I'ma be doin' just that.
Putain la gueule d'ya cul sexy.
” Fucking the shit out of ya sexy ass. “But, for now, let's save the foreplay for the onlookers inside.”

I press my thighs together, reluctantly retrieving my hand from his hard dick.

The back passenger door swings open.

Marcel winks at me, grinning. “You ready?”

I lick my lips as sordid scenarios of lewd sexapades flash through my freaky mind, causing heat to creep inbetween my thighs. My clit tingles, causing my pussy to instantly moisten.

“I'm always ready.”

•  •  •

“So, what…or should I say
who
…are you in the mood for tonight, baby?” Marcel asks as we maneuver our way through the maze of designer-clad and diamond-studded guests, giving customary smiles and head nods, along with generous hugs and handshakes.

“I'll know when….”

There are several VPs and A&R executives from various record labels and numerous A-list celebrities and athletes milling around the room, drinking flutes of some of the finest champagnes while mingling, flirting, groping, and sidling up to their objects of desire as bare-chested waiters wearing black bowties and tuxedo pants circle with champagne on silver trays.