Between the Sheets (9781476775807) Read online

  Heat builds up in my heavy balls. I’m ready to explode. I take a quick step forward.

  “Oh, no,” she warns playfully, wagging a wet finger at me. “Stay. Enjoy the show.”

  “Shit,” I mutter, shaking my head. I pull in my bottom lip.

  She knows I’m a voyeur. She knows I get off watching just as much as I do partaking. But right now, a muhfucka isn’t tryna watch. He’s tryna indulge. He’s tryna get his head grasped by both his baby’s hands while she clamps her thighs over his ears and fucks her pussy into his mouth.

  She grins. “You like watching me play in this sweet pussy, Marcel?”

  I slide my tongue over my lips again, anticipating a taste of her hot juices. “C’mon, baby. Stop fuckin’ with me. You already know the answer. Let me get a lick of that.”

  She opens and closes her thighs, mocha stretched over long, sculpted legs. Open. Close. Open. Close. The head of my swollen dick hangs out of the leg of my drawz as she plays peekaboo with her pretty pussy.

  Legs open. Marika smiles at me, then drops her gaze down to this long, thick dick as she cups her pussy, then massages her clit.

  Precum trickles out of my piss slit.

  She licks her lips. A hint of mischief sparkles in her eyes.

  I know the game she wants to play oh so fucking well. “Look. But Don’t Touch. Don’t Taste.” She’s paying me back for last night’s ep. As much as she loves this tongue in her, she loves this dick more. But all I did when I got in from the station last night is fuck her slit with the head. She begged for more. Clamped her legs around my waist and tried to fuck more dick into her wet-wet. But I fought the urge, knowing that I held her—and her pussy—in my power without ever having to slide an inch of this dick inside her. So I tip-fucked her nice ‘n’ slow, letting the mouth of her pussy suck the head of my dick. Word is bond, I love it when her pussy muscles tighten around my head and milks the nut out of it. It feels like she’s suckling on my shit.

  But now, I am suffering. Waiting. Begging.

  I glance at the time. It’s already quarter to seven in the morning. All I want is some easy pussy before I head into the office. But, nah, Marika’s in the mood to play games. She’s gonna make me work for it.

  “It’s getting late,” she says teasingly. “You might wanna hurry up and give me what I want, so you can get”—she takes her hands and pulls open her pussy lips—“this. This is what you want, isn’t it?”

  “C’mon, baby,” I practically whine, taking another step toward her. “Let me get some of that pussy.”

  Her hand goes up to stop me. “Not until you dance for me.”

  Legs closed. She slides her fingers into her mouth, teasing me with her tongue swirling through each finger.

  I squeeze the head of my swollen dick. “You see all this hard dick, baby? You got my shit leakin’.”

  A wicked smile plays across her painted lips. “And you see all this wet pussy, don’t you? You’re not getting any until…”

  “I know, I know. I dance for you.” I smirk, shaking my head. It’s all a part of the game. Me pretending not to wanna dance, her pretending not to want me to have the pussy.

  In the end, she knows, I know, we’re both going to get what we want.

  I tug at my dick.

  Marika bites into her bottom lip. Lets out a soft moan. Then darts her tongue out over her top lip. “C’mon, Marcel, baby,” she coos. Her right hand cupping her left breast, then pinching her nipple. Her left hand moving methodically over the bare mound of her pussy. “Dance for me.” Her fingers get lost into her slit. The sweet sound of her wet pussy being fucked by her fingers starts to drive me over the edge.

  I finally give my baby what she wants. I switch on one of the CD players—the one with a hundred-disc carousel, loaded with every kinda R&B slow jam to sexy and freaky joints from Trina to New Birth, Floetry, Jill Scott, Janet Jackson, Marvin Gaye, Force MD’s. SADE, Kem, Keith Sweat, Pleasure P, Prince, Lakeside, Jodeci, Usher, The Dramatics, Janet Jackson, Marsha Ambrosius, Silk, Tank, Atlantic Starr, Plies, J. Holiday, Beyoncé, Teddy Pendergrass, R. Kelly, Ginuwine, Trey Songz, Maxwell, SWV, Dwele, Raheem DeVaughn, Pretty Ricky, and many others, then set it for RANDOM play.

  There’s something real intoxicating about fucking and making love to music, yet not knowing what will play next heightens the experience. You can go from slow, deep lovemaking to hardcore pussy pounding. But, uh, dancing for Marika to shit that only a chick should be dancing to for her man, is not my thing. But it’s what turns her on. And, like I said, what my baby wants, my baby gets. But I’m not gonna front. I’m silently praying that the track gods only play shit by the bruhs.

  Marika grins as Plies’ “Get You Wet” floats through the system. I reach for the fly of my boxers, then in one swift motion, tear open my drawz, exposing a trimmed bush of thick, curly pubic hair. I reach down and pull my dick out, let it hang over the torn cotton.

  By the time Usher’s “Seduction” starts playing, I’m stroking my dick into a thick, long erection. Marika moans, groans, grunts, when I lean forward, extend my tongue out and lick around the head of my own dick, lapping at my sticky precum. I cup my balls.

  “Ooooh, yesss…” Marika says in almost a whisper. “Lick that big dick, daddy. Suck it for me.”

  I look up and wink at her, then flick my tongue over it several more times before standing upright and thrusting my hips at her. She moans, winding her ass into the mattress.

  “Mmmm…you’re so fucking sexy…you got my pussy coming, baby…”

  “Yeah, finger-fuck that wet cunt…”

  The music throbs around us.

  A smile toys at the corners of my mouth as I slowly stalk toward my baby while Trey Songz sings about getting on top. I swing my hips. Dip at the knees. Marika licks her lips as she takes in my body. Dark-chocolate skin sliding over thick muscles. Her fingers match my own strokes as the head of my dick slides in and out of the palm of my hand.

  She can’t keep the smile from creeping across her face when Beyoncé starts singing about how much she wants to show her man how much she appreciates him. I silently groan. She laughs.

  “Oh, aiight, aiight. You think this shit’s funny, huh?” I dip at the knees and thrust my hips, lifting my arms up over my head as “Dance for You” plays. The only thing on my mind is easing this dick into her pussy and getting deep inside her. I bunch every muscle in my sleek torso, gliding my hand down the length of my dick.

  I move in, closer. Closer, closer, my long fingers caressing my balls with one hand, while my other hand moves faster and faster in short strokes from the top to the bottom of my swollen head, then rhythmically slides into long, deep strokes from the base of my dick, then up, over, and around my head. Long and deep and slow, then fast and short. Stroke for stroke, my knees dipping every so often.

  “Yeah, baby,” I groan as R. Kelly’s “Cookie” pulses through the speakers. I have my dick practically in her face now. Her tongue slides out of her mouth. Her head leans in. Yeah, she wanna taste this dick now.

  “Nah, you can’t have none,” I tease, yanking it away from her open mouth while leaning into her, reaching for her wet pussy. I smack it. Pinch her clit. “Yeah, look at that pussy. All wet ‘n’ juicy.” I slip a finger in. Skim her inner walls with a swirl. She lets out a soft moan, reaching for my dick. I push her hand away. Press my lips into hers. Slide my tongue into her mouth as Trey Songz sings about being a panty wetter.

  I twist a hand into her hair. Yank her head back. Bite into her neck. Nip at her ear.

  She moans. “Aaah.”

  “I’ma fuck the shit outta you for makin’ me late for work. You know that, right?”

  I pull my finger out of her cunt, smack her clit, then plunge two fingers back into her slit. Marika gasps, hisses, then whimpers low in her throat, clawing at the sheets. Her eyes snap open wide. She has that hungry glow in them. My baby wants this dick. Her muscles squeeze my fingers as they curl forward inside of her, finding those crinkly r
idges at the front of her pussy.

  “Yeah, what was all that slick shit you were talkin’?” I press into spongy flesh, massaging her spot. “Talkin’ about I wasn’t getting none of this pussy…?”

  Her mouth stretches open. Her eyes grow wide as I move my fingers into a slow, steady rhythm, increasing the pressure on her G-spot.

  She rocks her hips. Her breath hitches. A scream explodes from her mouth as Jason Derulo croons out “Vertigo.”

  “That’s right. Come for me, baby.”

  Withdrawing my fingers, I bring them to her lips, smearing gloss and cunt musk together, then pushing them deep into her mouth. “I told you ’bout teasing me when you know I have to be at the office early. Didn’t I?”

  My fingers slip from her mouth, drawing a wet trail to her pebbled nipples. I pinch, the right one, then the left one.

  “Yes,” she moans. Then in one swift motion, I lift her off the bed, flip her over, and tell her to get on all fours. I slap her phat ass, then drop to a crouch behind her, taking my thumbs and spreading her cunt open. I sweep my tongue over swollen, glistening lips, then bury it inside of her sticky heat. Marika drops her head forward and claps her ass cheeks around my face, moaning as I tongue-fuck her and stroke my dick through two songs before finally standing and rubbing the thick head of my dick up and down between her damp pussy lips, then sinking it in.

  “Aaaaah, shiiiit,” I choke out, head thrown back. Her taut, hot pussy causes every muscle in her body to tighten. “Aaah, muthafuck, yeah…” I withdraw halfway, then plunge in, deep—until my balls press tight against her cunt lips.

  Marika’s cries echo around the room, bouncing off the walls. I grind my hips into her nice and slow. “Yeah, baby,” I moan, watching my dick slide in and out of her. “Coat my dick with that sweet nut. I love watchin’ you take all this dick…aaaah, fuck, baby…nice, wet pussy…”

  I pull out again. Fuck her with the head. Then surge my hips forward again, pushing my iron-hard pipe back into her. A soft, feminine rumble of approval seeps from her lips as I change my rhythm, using long powerful thrusts. In, out. In, out. Swish, swish. In, out. In, out. Swish, swish. Each stroke cutting, slicing, sawing into wet heat, gliding out of her wetness from head to base. My balls slap up against the back of her.

  I wrap both of my arms around her and pound into her. By the time Xscape starts singing, I’m right where I wanna be. Roaring, buried deep in Marika’s shuddering body, fucking my nut into the warmest place on earth.

  My baby’s wet pussy.

  FOUR

  Marika

  “Your eleven o’clock is here,” my receptionist, Shayla, says the moment I step—okay, okay…half-walk, half-limp, thanks to the delicious fucking Marcel put on me this morning—through the sliding glass doors of M&M Publishing, a large publishing company with magazine and book publishing holdings nestled inside a luxury high-rise building on the fortieth floor. The building also houses a record label and a multimillion-dollar public relations and global management agency that manages numerous Fortune 500 companies across the country.

  As president and chief executive officer of M&M, I oversee the publishing and operations of our numerous divisions. And I am damn proud of my accomplishments as a thirty-six-year-old, African-American woman.

  Straight out of Howard with a degree in communications, I landed a job with a major publishing house where I quickly worked my way up the ladder to executive editor of one of their imprints. Then, after almost two years, I’d had enough and decided to launch, along with Marcel, my own publishing house. Eight years later, M&M Publishing has rapidly become a force to be reckoned with in the publishing industry, becoming the home of many major bestselling authors. And as a result, in 2013, I was presented with the prestigious Matrix Award, a Tiffany medallion, from the New York Women in Communications for excellence in publishing.

  I run a manicured hand through my hair, lifting my shades up and resting them on top of my head. The wall behind Shayla’s desk is a waterfall with sparkling sheets of chlorinated water splashing endlessly down into a basin filled with shimmering rocks. I glance at my timepiece, then look over toward the waiting area. “Already? It’s only ten.”

  She shrugs, pushing a curtain of blonde-colored hair from her high cheekbones. “He said he didn’t want to be late.” She picks up a stack of phone messages and hands them to me. “Oh. And a Miss Lollipop Lipz called and asked for you to call her on her cell.”

  I frown. “What kind of mess? Lollipop Lips? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  She snickers. “She said you might say that. She also mentioned something about a manuscript she sent over by Express mail for you to look at. She called it Cum Stains.”

  “Oh, hell no. I’m not interested in anything titled Cum Stains written by some woman who goes by a slutty name like Lollipop Lips. No thank you.”

  Shayla gives me a knowing look. “If you ask me, she sounded like a real nut. No pun intended. And it’s Lipz with a Zee, not an Ess.”

  I raise a brow. “Well, the next time Miss Lipz with a Zee calls, you can tell her we’re not interested in anything with cum stains on it. And we’re no longer taking submissions.”

  I gather my things to head toward my office overlooking Times Square.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” she says.

  I turn to look at her. “Yes?”

  “She said she hopes you have”—she lowers her voice—“two bottles of Sweet Bitch on ice for her.”

  I blink.

  It takes a second for it to register before I burst into laughter. Sweet Bitch is the favorite wine of my friend and line sister Jasmine. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, more like sisters. And there’s not one secret we haven’t shared with the other. Well, okay. Maybe there’s one or two that I haven’t shared.

  “That fool.” I wave Shayla on. “I can’t with her.”

  She looks at me inquisitively. “I take it you know her?”

  I nod, wondering why she hadn’t called me on my cell. “Unfortunately, yes. And, you’re right. She is a nut.”

  She shakes her head, then says as I walk away, “Good luck with that.”

  I chuckle, quickly making my way down the corridor, passing walls lined with framed book covers, autographed author headshots, plaques, and awards. Reaching the end of the corridor, I swipe my laminated ID through the silver card slot, wait for another set of glass doors to slide open, then walk through.

  The doors hiss shut behind me.

  I turn down another corridor, passing a nest of sleek glass cubicles, then step into my spacious, 1,250 square-foot office with a huge window, Calacatta marble flooring, built-in bookshelves, and a marble-and-steel wet bar over in the far-right corner. On the other side of my office near the window overlooking the New York skyline, there’s a plush white leather sofa and two matching chairs and a French vintage gold leaf coffee table.

  I smile taking in my sophisticated, yet chic, office. Many years ago, I was a girl with a dream and a plan armed with a degree. Now here I stand. A woman with the kind of life and career most can only dare dream about. And I have a husband, a partner, who loves and supports me in everything I do. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a fairytale. It feels so surreal.

  I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m still breathing, and that everything around me is real.

  It is.

  My smile widens as I walk around my large, centered desk and stow my Hermès handbag in the bottom drawer. Just as I’m preparing to sit, Shayla buzzes me and tells me Lenora Samuels of LS Literary Agency is on the line. Lenora is the head of one of the top literary agencies in the publishing world.

  “Good morning, Lenora. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m fabulous, darling.”

  “That’s great. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “I have a manuscript I’d like you to personally take a look at.”

  “I—”

  “Let me stop you, my dear,” she cuts in
not giving me a chance to protest. “Before you tell me you’re too busy and try to send me chasing one of your lovely editors. Know this. This book is sure to cause a bidding war. Trust me on this. It’s so hot and juicy. Flooded with drama and lots of steamy sex.”

  My ears perk up. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Well, it’s titled Prison Snatch…”

  I blink.

  She says it’s written under a pen name. Heaven. By a woman who spent several years in state prison after she tried killing her lover. She tells me it’s fiction. Erotica. But that it’s based loosely on her freaky sexapades during her incarceration.

  My mouth waters at the thought of some burly stud-boo salaciously dishing out all her dirty prison deeds. I bite into my bottom lip, imagining a tight-bodied studboi with a twelve-inch dick jutting out of a spiked harness, fucking the shit out of me while a soft, feminine, lipstick and stiletto doll squats over my face and lowers her sweet pussy on my mouth. I lick the drool gathering at the corner of my mouth.

  “Have I gotten your attention yet, my darling?” Lenora questions. I can practically feel her beaming over the phone.

  I swallow. “Oh, yes, yes…you have. Send it over.”

  She laughs. “See. I knew you’d see it my way. I’ll have it in your inbox by the time our call ends.”

  I smile, powering up my desktop. “Great. Give me a week or so to get to it.”

  “Darling, because I’m giving you first dibs at the next New York Times bestseller. I’ll give you three before I start shopping it.”

  I thank her before hanging up. And sure enough, before the receiver hits the cradle, there’s a new message with an attachment from her.

  Shayla calls again. Tells me Miss Lipz is on the line.