Dirty Heat (18 page)

I drag my nails over the dresser. Arch into the heat.

Roosevelt grunts. “You giving my pussy out to some other motherfucker, huh?”

Bam, bam, bam…

He pounds away.

“Lord, God, no, no no…uh, ooh…yes…”

Smack!

His hand cracks across my ass again, harder.
“Yes,
what? You riding some other nigga's dick?”

Bam, bam, bam…

I break out in a sweat as fire roars through me. Roosevelt is fucking into wet flames. He's fucking me as if he knows my dirty secret.

Yes, God, yes. Fuck the sin out of me!

Oooh, the dick is soooo motherfucking good.

With each rapid thrust, Roosevelt pulls the length of his dick all the way out, then slams back in, causing hot air to seep out. My pussy starts making wet sucking sounds.

“Yes, baby, make my pussy fart, baby…yes, yes, yes…”

Roosevelt grunts. “You letting some other motherfucker hit this shit…?”

Whack!

“Nooooo,”
I moan. “No, baby, no. This pussy's all yours. Can't no nigga fuck me like you. Oh, God, yes, baby, yes…goddamn you,” I cry out, catching my reflection in the mirror. “My hair looks like shit. Uh…ooh…ah, ah, ah, mmm…you make me sick!”

The palm of his hand cracks across my ass over and over, causing the heat in my pussy to spread.

“Shut the fuck up with that dumb shit. You know you love this dick…”

He slaps my ass again, causing sparks to shoot through me.

“Uh, uh, mmm…yes, I love it. Oooh, shitgoddamnfuck…I love it, I love it, I love it!”

He slaps my ass again, his dick sawing in and out of me, his thrusts knocking me forward, causing the dresser mirror to sway back and forth.

I stare at his reflection in the mirror. Forehead creased. Nose flaring. Bottom lip swelling, his eyes rolling in the back of his head, he's nearing the point of no return.

“No, no, noooo. Don't you fucking come, yet!
Please
. Oh, God, no! Don't—”

“Fuck!” he growls, his dick slicing into warm, wet pleasure. “I told you I'ma bust this nut inside you, then clean you out. Aaah, shit…”

Hearing those words send me spiraling out of control. I come with a primal growl. My uterus shaking, my body shuddering, as
Roosevelt empties himself inside me, coating my walls as wave after wave of pleasure surges over me.

But I want more.

My pussy is still clutching for more.

I keep winding my hips as Roosevelt's dick eases out of me. I attempt to move, but he pushes me forward. “I'm not done,” he whispers, pulling open my nut-filled pussy. “I'm ready for my snack.”

My cunt clenches as his nut slides out of my slit. His tongue sinks inside and I moan. “Mmmmmmm, yes, baby…lick out your creamy treat.”

There's no denying, his tongue strokes are divine. I clap my ass cheeks around his face, allowing him to feast on his, and my, love juices. He covers my pussy with his mouth, tongue inside, then mutters against my creamy cunt to push his nut into my mouth.

A mini-orgasm ripples through me. And, then I come inside his mouth. But before I can catch my breath, Roosevelt is lifting me up off my feet, tossing me up over his shoulder and stalking over toward the bed.

He throws me down on it.

There's a dark hunger in his eyes I haven't seen in a long time. And now I almost start to feel guilty, again, for flying out to St. Lucia without him. Almost.

“Baby, no. My flight…”

“Fuck your flight,” he says, positioning himself between my thighs. “Feeding your man comes first.”

I am shocked. And turned on. Goddam him!

“Spread them motherfucking legs,” he says.

I slowly open my legs. And give him what he wants. Hoping like hell I don't miss my flight. But, as Roosevelt's tongue spirals over my clit, all thoughts of St. Lucia momentarily leave my mind as he wrings another orgasm out of me.

I hold my breath as he licks me with a broad flat stroke. Up and down, he swoops over my pussy with his wet tongue.

And just when I think I can't handle anymore, Roosevelt eases up from between my legs, then in one swift motion, he is on his back and I am being turned around to straddle his face, my simmering juices pooling from my cunt, sliding down my inner thighs. Roosevelt fists his dick. Tells me to sit on his face.

His fingers spread my wet lips.

Then comes his wicked tongue again.

Lord, God, yes!

Roosevelt rapidly fucks me with his tongue, growling into my cunt as his dick explodes, shooting thick ropes of hot, creamy semen into my mouth. My cunt grabs at his tongue as he spears into it.

I drink, gulp, and swallow. I keep swallowing, swallowing; gulping, gulping, gulping.

Every last drop…

“YE-EHHHH!”

“Yehhhhhh-Ey!”

Eyes closed.

Lips pursed.

Hair swinging.

Titties jiggling.

Nipples peaked.

Hips swaying.

Ass bouncing.

Hands up over my head, white gold, diamond-crusted bangles clanking, I'm feeling sexy and free.

Fela Kuti's “Teacher Don't Teach Me Nonsense” blares through the speakers, giving me life.

Yes, God.

I hop, skip, shimmy my shoulders. Throw my head back. The music, its melodic beat, is hypnotic, causing my hips to sway, my pelvis to thrust. I feel myself getting caught up in it, like it's moving me from the inside out.

The island of St. Lucia is breathtaking. The people are warm and welcoming. The weather is gorgeous. And the nightlife is full of energy, giving me life.

Although I am still reeling from the shock of being daring enough to hop on a plane and travel across the Atlantic Ocean to vacation
alone, I let go of my inhibitions and allow myself to get lost in the moment.

Red-glossed lips, mink-lashed, I am dancing the night away out on the party deck of one of St. Lucia's hotspots.
Serving
them—the locals and tourists, that is—in my skimpy, hip-grabbing white halter-top jumpsuit—underneath, I'm wearing a tiny thong—with a pair of red six-inch Manolo Blahniks.

I know I'm a bad bitch.

My sun-kissed skin is shimmering under the moon.

My hair is laid right.

Yes, Lord. You can't tell me shit.

Flawless.

This big, juicy ass is clapping for the gods.

I toss my head back. Throw my arms up in the air. Glance up at the twinkling stars. Close my eyes. Then slowly open them again, gazing out into the growing crowd.

All eyes are on me as I dish up a full-view of ass, hips, and tits.

A few men whistle and catcall.

Tonight, even if I'm not fucking—
yet,
I am giving them the illusion that I am.

That I am the island whore.

The harlot.

The jezebel.

The dancing thot.

In my mind's eye, all I see are a bunch of naked, hard-bodied men, a slew of hard horny dick.

All for the taking.

Fingers popping, pussy on fire, I'm dancing as if I am a woman with a purpose, to have a good goddamn time. I shake my ass as if I'm a single woman, as if I hadn't been fucked by my man just hours before my flight departed.

I wind down to the floor, then pop my ass cheeks. Bitches had better grab ahold of their men and hold 'em tight. There's a weekend slut on the loose.

“YE-EHHHH!”

“Yehhhhhh-Ey!”

I sway back and forth, lunge forward, shake and roll my hips. Not caring if my breasts spill out. Then I quickly get swept up in the fast, rhythmic beat of “Flatten Riddim” as it vibrates through my body.

I start high-kicking and spinning.

By the time the deejay eases into “Your Loss,” a song by a reggae artist I've never heard of, Figaro, the dance floor is crowded, and I've worked up a sweat and a deep thirst for something wet…and refreshing.

“Damn, baby, I love the way you move,” a baritone voice floats over the music in back of me. I turn to see who its owner is, looking up and gazing into the eyes of the closet thing to perfection I've seen in a long time.

Lord, God, he's fine.

He's holding a bottle of Piton in his hand.

For a second, I stand here mesmerized, taking in his smooth milk chocolate skin and his Trevor eyes that look like two black onyx stones delicately set in big round orbs, before finally opening my mouth to speak.

“Oh, you haven't seen anything yet,” I say sassily. It's a loaded statement, one he quickly picks up on.

He takes a swig of his beer, then licks a set of full lips that causes my clit to pulse.

“Is that so?” he says, waves of desire sizzling off him as his seductive gaze wanders over my body. “Well, I can't wait to see what else that body can do.”

A loaded statement filled with invitation.

“If only you knew, boo.” I giggle to myself. He follows me back to the bar, telling the bartender to get me whatever I want. I ease up on a barstool and order a rum punch.

Grabbing a few napkins from off the bar, I dab my forehead, then along the back of my neck.

“Looks like you were out there having a real good time.”

I smile. “Life's too short not to.”

He smiles. “It was fun watching you. You kinda had us all in a trance.”

I swivel my chair in his direction, crossing my legs. “Then I've done what I came to do.”

He furrows his brow. “Oh, yeah? What was that?”

The bartender slides me my drink. I take a quick sip of the refreshing drink, then set it up on the bar. “To give people something to think about.”

He laughs. “Oh, trust me, love. You definitely gave us fellas more than enough to think about. And fantasize about. You definitely knew what you were doing to us.”

Now it's my turn to laugh.

The music abruptly stops. A speaker blows out. And the crowd groans in agitation. The deejay in his thick West Indian accent apologizes. Tells everyone to bear with him. People are milling around the deck, talking and laughing and eyeing their prey for the night, while waiting for the music to start again.

Mister Milk Chocolate.

A light breeze rolls off the ocean and blows in, cooling me.

Two drinks later, and it no longer matters that the music is still not back on. I've learned that Mister Milk Chocolate's real name is Evan. He's thirty-eight. A Scorpio. Originally from Brooklyn, New York, but—for the last ten years—has lived in New Haven, Connecticut.

He and some of his frat brothers are here visiting St. Lucia for another one of his frat brother's wedding. He ties the knot tomorrow afternoon. Then he flies back to the States on Sunday. The same day as I am.

I glance at his left hand, ring finger. There is no sign of a ring, or tan line. Not that it matters, or means anything.

Hell, I'm involved. But tonight, I'm out shaking my ass, moving like I'm happily single.

“So what fraternity do you belong to, if you don't mind me asking?”

He flashes a lazy grin. Tells me it's all about that Crimson and Cream.

I laugh. “I should have known. You're too damn fine to be anything else.”

He laughs with me. “Many are called…”

“I know, I know,” I say, cutting him off. “Few are chosen.”

“You got it, love. What you know about that?”

“Oh, I know all about them canes,” I say flirtatiously.

“Yeah, but I bet you don't know about the one I'm holding,” he says back.

Ping.
Incoming text.

I purse my lips. “Uh-huh. Hold that thought.” I fish through my clutch for my phone, pulling it out.

When I see
Miss you baby. Hope ur having a good time
from Roosevelt, I almost feel guilty for sitting here with this chocolate Adonis, toying with fantasies of having—what I imagine to be big and thick, judging by the bulge in his white linen shorts—his jumbo-size dick in my wet mouth.

I gaze up at my bar companion. “Excuse me for one sec,” I say just as the music starts to play again. I don't give a damn where I'm at, what I'm doing, or who I am doing it with, the one thing I make sure I always do is answer my man's texts and his calls. I don't care if I have a mouthful of dick. I stop mid-suck and respond to my man.

And that's how you keep his mind from wandering, conjuring up crazy shit, like you're probably out cheating on him, even if you are.

The one thing I will never do is, fuck up my home life. Oh, no, boo-boo.

I hold my Samsung up and angle it just so, taking a selfie, then quickly text,
Miss you too, boo. Yes. I'm having a fab time! Wish u were here. Jessica and the girls say hi
. Lies. But I know it's the right thing to say. That I wish he were here.

I chuckle to myself, making a mental note to give my soror Jessica a heads-up when I get back to the States, just in case Roosevelt decides to let curiosity get the best of him and asks her how our little
retreat
was.

The last thing I need is for her looking like a deer caught in headlights, and me scrambling not to get caught in a lie. I haven't told many. But I've dished out my share. Fortunately, I've kept my tracks covered and my lies straight, thus far.

No time for getting sloppy now.

I attach the picture of myself, head tilted, smiling.

Then hit send.

Mr. Milk Chocolate grins.

“So, who's that? Your lover?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“I should have known a beautiful woman like you would have a man. Where is he? Back at your hotel?”

“No. Atlanta. I traveled light, this time.”

He gives me a quizzical look. “And he
trusts
you on a beautiful tropical island, alone?”

Feeling the heat from my drink kicking in, I slowly run the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip. “Of course he does. Why wouldn't he? I've never given him any reason
not
to trust me.”
Yeah, bitch,
because your slick-ass hasn't gotten caught yet.
“Besides, he doesn't know I've traveled alone.”