My Number One: Kasha & Knox (4 page)

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“Shit, some people,” I mumbled. I didn’t know if it was the signal I gave off. I’d always heard how chicks loved mysterious guys, but did guys like me, with a past, ever end up with good girls? Or perhaps it was my fate that I’d solidified during those earlier years.

There were a whole lotta shitty men that easily turned good girls bad, or wicked and cold. And here I was, in a club nonetheless, scoping out the place for something new, maybe a good girl, since the only good girl in my life was apparently too good for me. My mind constantly shifted to Kasha; her smile and her gentleness and her acceptance of me. An acceptance that rested in the man I was at this very time in my life. Okay, all right . . .

Shifting ice cubes inside a glass, I perused the room for just the right type of woman to make me forget, one that could possibly hold me, at least until the alcoholic buzz was ready to wear off. That needed to be achieved soon because I felt the growth in my pants, ready to burst out from my khakis.

On the opposite side of the club, lights flashed from a high beam, giving way to a hot-ass brunette. She must have just walked into that spot because I hadn’t noticed her before. I studied the sideways profile as she looked out onto the dance floor. She was frickin’ sweet in hot pink, with deep curls cascading down her back; my manhood practically stretched in her direction. She had this rich kind of tan, or perhaps a natural Italian glow. Her face was familiar, though unknown just then.

I stood, and didn’t stop to think that the sexy stranger might’ve had a man until I reached four barstools away. She tugged at me like a magnet for all things sensual and lustful. By this time, however, her eyes had found mine. She wore a desperate type of pout, while nibbling at her lips. I paced over with an urgency typically reserved for the most significant things in life—work and money related opportunities. The spot was filled beyond capacity. In fact, it was not uncommon for anyone to get plastered against a stranger. Yet even being so near, there were a shitload of bodies around the place.

Her eyes continued to call out to me. I was forced to maneuver through the people, remaining unfazed by the rumble of high bass music and high-pitched conversations flying throughout the air. Just when I stepped in front of her, she extended her neck, pouting with blistering lips. We exchanged words in a secret conversation.

I nodded and rested my hand on her elbow. There was something about that caveman type of shit that just got me going in the moment. It’s like I was staking claim in a way, but not entirely. The sexy stranger fell into line as well. She turned fully into my chest, ready to give in . . . ready to follow my lead. One would think she knew me already, by the way she sprang to my touch. She did, to a certain degree. I just didn’t recall.

Then I stepped off; she trailed along without even knowing what was in store. She had to be about 5’5”, not much compared to my height, but fear resided miles away. And when I nodded in the direction of the exit; she smiled and puckered her lips. I led without a word, squeezing through and around a slew of people. Only once did I glance back to find her in hot pursuit of the door, no more than a single step behind me.

“Can you keep up?” I asked once we stepped outside the club. It was damn near twelve-thirty and people were still lining up to get inside. Not that the spot was top notch or owned by a celebrity or anything like that. The selling point had to be in the location itself and the atmosphere.

We moved opposite the crowd, while everyone else tried to get in. I was also determined to get in, in a different way.

She raced up to my side, still not answering the question, but instead wrapped her hand around my wrist. Little by little, she slid it down to my palm. I had no choice but to slow down just enough. Tilting sideways and downward, I glimpsed her struggle to keep up. There was something familiar about her that I simply couldn’t place. Still I brushed away the thought.

Just as we walked past the corner spotlight and prepared to cross into a secluded parking lot, she slanted her head and gazed into my face. She slowly licked her lips, batted her lashes and then exhaled. She pulled back, hinting at slowing down.

Slow down? I don’t think so.

The cars were laid out in maze form, making it that much harder to shift through the dark. It was like an abandoned city, with the exception of whatever had been going on outside of the lot. But the further in we traveled, a couple of motion lights turned on.

With the bass and booming of the music fading to nothing in the distance, I concentrated on the sexy chick’s heels against the pavement, until she started stepping lighter.

“You’re nervous?” I asked, feeling a softer grip from her fingers.

“I’m cool,” she whispered, repositioning her hold of my palm. We moved through the parking lot until I spotted my Camaro. The front of the ride was practically hidden and faced away from any real streetlights. I literally had to shake her hand off mine, that’s how much she had been clinging to me. For a brief second, I considered how I and clingy women didn’t mix, no matter how hot they were. Tonight I was making an exception . . . only tonight and only for another few minutes or so.

I shoved my palms into my pockets at the same time, not entirely sure of which one held the key fob. Even as I did so, the nervous female remained quiet and the damn heels click-clicked. She shifted her legs, setting to drive me bat-shit crazy.

Damn!

“You wanna go back in?” I asked, as my patience wore thin. This sorta nonsense could deplete a man’s libido. Too much uncertainty. Too much thinking. You’re either doing it or not. That’s why I kept my options slim and on women that knew what the hell they wanted. Who was I kidding? What women as of lately? The cat and mouse games between me and Kasha were perhaps on the same level. “You don’t know me. I can walk you back.”

“Ummm, no,” she responded after a five-second pause.

I unlocked the car with one hand and with the other gripped her neck, forcefully directing her lips to meet mine. She released a gush of air, returning the force in equal manner. She sucked on my tongue inside of her mouth, begging for more. Though the night seemed to prove otherwise, I was still one to revel in such things.

Let’s make this clear, Knox Jackson is not a bad guy. Never disrespectful, for the most part. So I knew to take her inside the car at least, but that would literally break my flow. I knew to drive her to get a room, especially when we were practically here . . . on the verge of diving in.

You really can’t help where you get carried away, and most importantly how far away you’re carried. Right? So I grabbed ahold of the back of her head, feeling the rich silkiness of thick hair.

“Ahhh,” she called out in the midst of my other hand’s exploring her breasts. “Mmmm . . .” They were full, fleshy and ready to squeeze out from the two-sizes-too-small dress. I didn’t stop until my fingers felt her nipple, and released the entire breast. I reached for the other side and unleashed it as well. Only then did I step back. I towered over her, damn near having to stoop like a jackass to fit those babies between my lips.

“Don’t stop,” she implored. Now her hands clasped her own breasts as she milked them. She damn well knew what this move was capable of doing to a man.

I captured her hands, positioning her closer to the hood of the ride. I then surveyed the lot, even though it didn’t matter if anyone was nearby. This chick, whatever the hell her name, was sparking with my libido. I was not the type of man to sex any type of chick that came into my path just for the sake of breaking off. But it had been a while since I’d broken off. Maybe several months even . . . maybe sooner, but that experience must have been less than memorable. Either way, it was long enough for this one to entice me into saying to hell with everything else.

“Fuck,” I shouted, as my flesh expanded to a greater degree at the thought of handling my present company. My palm traveled down, beyond the zipper and boxers. My member had become so enlarged that it was uncomfortable to unleash without getting grazed by the zipper, or even squeezed in the process.

By this time the chick was perched on my ride. She blew out air after seeing my struggle. I looked up. She giggled, coyly placing one palm over the top of the other.

“It’s too late to change your mind.” I proceeded in taking her hand, rolling it along the length of my erection.

“Mmmmm,” she purred.

“You game, beautiful?” That was my way of warning her. If she said no, then that was no. I wasn’t gonna fight and try to take it. No need. But her fingers sheltered my manhood, moving around and up and down the entire package.

I could literally feel the force of the alcohol edging me on, and my present company only succeeded in ensuring that I remained heated. A dark, wicked electricity swirled and blanketed me. I suddenly felt like I’d taken things slow enough. Although I was not one to beg for it, I wasn’t the type to play silly games.

She removed one hand from my growth, reached into the side of the tiny dress, pulled out a wrapper and raised the lower part of her outfit to give me a pass.

“What are you waiting for?” she cried out. “Take it.”

This was one order I didn’t mind following. So I finished loosening the slacks before lifting her further up onto the Camaro, and placing her on her stomach. Though her features were premium, I was not interested in seeing her, much less making eye contact. There was little need to connect on that level. Actually, I didn’t even know her name and didn’t really care either. My only urge rested in snaking my entire pipe deep inside of her womanhood. No sooner had I got her to sprawl wide against the hood, I suffered through the ritual of forcing my entire girth into the maximum-sized condom. I bent for positioning. Next I groped her ass, only to slide beneath and into her juiciness.

“Ughhh!” she hollered out. Even in this frantic pleasure, she tilted her hips upward to receive me.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” I ordered. With each stroke I slammed with calculated force; this allowed her to feel every inch of the thrust. “That’s what you wanted . . . right?” Most certainly it was what I needed; to hell with her desires right now. On second thought, she must’ve needed this as much as I did, otherwise she wouldn’t have been out there tricking in a parking lot, in NYC.

For now though, I claimed the moment and planned on making the most of it. Not every man knew how to not only take control, but also how to live in control. As a matter of fact, it was more than that. The term that came to mind with each jab was power . . . yeah, hell yeah. And I took it deeper, though not to pain her because I recognized that the depth came with exactly how I positioned myself between her winged sprawl.

“Damn!” She flickered her wrist, lashing the hood of the ride, and for a second I wanted to say hold up. But her inner reflex was too strong, even for the sake of my ride. She made me want to flip it, push it and slam it nonstop. Perhaps it had to do with the intense rush of sexing out in the open, the blessings of the alcohol or the exceptional company, but neither appeared willing to let up. She continued to buck up backwards, hitting at my groin. I held on firmly with my knees bent. I spread my legs apart and positioned myself low enough to comfortably unleash the flesh as deep as possible, while still hoping to extend her pleasure.

Wrapping my fingers closer to her front and lifting her several inches further up from the ground, I began a vicious pumping on somewhat of a curved angle. She suddenly started contracting. The pulsations were wild and no longer steadied by her abilities.

The more she wiggled around, the more determined I was to make her accept the faith. She mumbled and made a few muffled sounds, though her lips squeezed tightly. My lips curved as I continued to pounce her tenderness until she couldn’t hold in any longer.

“Arghhh,” she bawled out. “Arghhh . . .” Her palms smashed back down on the hood of the ride. She tipped upwards, trying in earnest to be brave. Her inner muscles again flexed and massaged up and down the full length of me.

“Fuck! Fuck!” I spat out the words, burying my forehead and face into her mass of hair. I had an urge to wrap my fingers in her hair and yank enough to bring the right amount of pain, but was on the verge of releasing too. I couldn’t bring myself to move. So I squeezed even harder than before.

This was one for the record books, spectacular for a potential one-time screw. This gave me life, and allowed me to feel relevant. There was something about defiance, especially over an act so very public. Each time my manhood was buried, I let go of the pressure and stress of living. I said goodbye to the man of my past and focused on the man I hoped to become right then. It was almost like this building up from mediocre sexing to mind blowing sexing. This right here . . . this gave life!

By the time we reached that part, the one where the body nearly seized up from an influx of blood to the sexual organ, time faded. Our quick, steady movements became sloppy, while the groans intensified. I shut out the fact that I was in a dark, secluded parking lot and pumping into a complete stranger. For the first time in a very long time, I stopped caring about a fake, bad-boy-turned-good public image or perception. If I had gone home, I might’ve gladly jerked off over the memories and longings, or the thought of Kasha Davies. Tonight’s intensity could never be matched, not with a simple hand job.

I let go of her left hip, placing my hand in her hair. With fingers twirling tightly on the silky coils, I nudged her forward. She pressed onto the hood. The blood rushed to my erection, guiding the flow of cum.