Between the Sheets (9781476775807) Page 6

  A moan rolls its way up through the pit of my stomach, burns through my chest, then lodges itself in the back of my throat. I gasp. My eyes roll up in the back of my head, spin around in their sockets, then spring open.

  “Ooh, please, baby…”

  Marcel grins. “Please, baby, what? What, you don’t like me fingering you?”

  “No, yes…ooh, please…mmm…”

  “I love playin’ in this pussy,” he whispers into my ear. The pad of his finger sweeps over my clit. His breath warms my neck as he continues to whisper dirty talk in my ear. “You got my dick so fuckin’ hard. I’ma fuck the shit out you, baby. Mmm. This wet pussy. So fuckin’…hot…” His finger strokes my clit in small circles, pressing ever so lightly, before dipping back into my slit.

  A soft moan escapes me.

  “Shhh, baby,” he says soothingly, even as he slips a second, then third finger into my snug pussy. “You want the other passengers to hear you?”

  Although the only ones on our flight besides Marcel and me are the flight attendant and the two pilots, his question is a part of the game. Pretending we’re flying with a bunch of other passengers. The threat, the fear, of being watched by others is like an aphrodisiac. The thought of being secretly watched, or overheard, is intoxicating.

  “N-no,” I push out, shaking my head. I am relieved that we are traveling at night and the interior of the cabin is dimly lit. But in my mind’s eye it is the glow of complimentary notebook screens and personal laptops of other passengers lighting the cabin. “But, but…ooh…” Three fingers are now two. “Ooh…ooh…I’m so hot… my pus…sssssy…” Two fingers are now one, again.

  I hum deep in my throat.

  “Shhh. Milk my finger like you do my dick.” He eases his finger all the way out to the tip, teasing my slit, then pushes in his middle and index fingers. My walls clamp around his probing digits, the mouth of my pussy slurping his fingers in. “Yeah, baby. That’s it. Just like that.”

  “Aah…mmm…”

  He finger-fucks me slowly, purposefully, as my pussy floods with steaming juices. He pulls out. Slides his wet, sticky finger over the contours of my lips, quickly pulling it back when I open my mouth and attempt to swipe at it with my tongue. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, then leans in and kisses me, again, flicking his tongue over my lips, before easing it into my wet mouth, letting my tongue dance a sultry dance with his.

  With a low moan, I wrench my mouth away from his. “I can’t take much more of this, baby. It’s killing me.”

  He grins, inching his hand back up between my legs. “You can’t take much more of what?” He’s back at it again. Toying with my clit, my pussy lips, then the opening of my slit. “This?”

  “I’m sooo horny,” I whimper. “I want you to fuck me. I need your dick inside of me. Pleeeease.”

  “Shhh. I know, baby. I know you want this hard dick. Daddy loves this pussy. Hot”—he plunges his fingers in, then pulls out—“wet”—he plunges them back in—“juicy”—he pulls out again. “Pussy.”

  I gasp, rolling into the swelling wave of pleasure. I am certain that the rest of the cabin can smell my arousal hanging heaving in the air. Its delicious scent filled with sweet musky need.

  Marcel teases my clit again. My body shivers. He knows I’m riding on the cusps of an orgasm. I’m panting now. My breasts heave up and down. My nipples tighten. My tongue slides out of my mouth. I am slowing unraveling. My whole body is on fire. I lust to have him fucking me, deep and hard, slapping my ass, and yanking my head back while he guts the back of my pussy, stretching it with his big hard dick.

  My hand slinks over into his lap, eagerly grabbing at the bulge in his sweats. Oh, how I love it when he travels in sweat pants. His long dick stretches along the inside of his left thigh. It’s as hard as granite.

  He presses his legs shut. My hand travels down the length of his wide shaft to the head of his dick, lightly squeezing. “You like that shit. See how fuckin’ hard you got that dick, baby?”

  “Y-y-yes…oooh, your dick is so hard for me.”

  “Yeah, that big dick’s all for you, baby. I can’t wait to get lost in all this wetness.” He thrusts his middle finger in deep, then out, then in, then out, exciting my slick opening and causing my legs to quiver. Marcel’s thumb flicks my clit. “I’ma fuck this pussy until you can’t stand. You want daddy to beat this shit up for you…?”

  Marcel’s long, talented fingers stroke me into a fever pitch, causing me to almost howl low in the back of my throat. I have to clamp my lips closed, bite down on them, to contain the gurgling sounds.

  “Yeah, baby, give me that nut. Cum for daddy.”

  His fingers slip deep inside of me, stroking my walls, pressing down into my G-spot. My pussy matches the tug and pull of each thrust. I squirm. Wiggle my hips. Fuck into Marcel’s hand, deep and greedily.

  I snap my head back against the cushioned headrest. Close my eyes and imagine him deep inside of me. “Mmm. Aaah…”

  In a lust-induced fog, I let out another moan.

  “Shhh,” Marcel whispers, swirling his two wet fingers over my clit. I bat my lids open, then sweep my eyes around the darkened cabin, hoping no one has heard me. “Give me that nut, baby…”

  He nibbles on my earlobe. His tongue darts in, causing me to squirm. “I bet they can smell your wet pussy.” His fingers click-click in and out of my wetness. He fucks into my heated center and now I have to wonder if what he says is true. That the flight crew can in fact smell how hot and wet and horny my cunt is.

  Marcel’s fingers run up and down the lips of my pussy before entering me again. It doesn’t take him long to find my spot, that fleshy sponge of swollen desire. He presses into it, strokes it. I whimper. I am thrusting my hips without thought. Too far gone to care as the first warm spasm uncurls in me. My G-spot gushes, making the sticky puddle already beneath me even bigger. My ass is soaked.

  I grip the sides of my seat as another wave of heat washes over me. Buck against Marcel, moaning and gasping for air, as Marcel’s hand pumps into my weeping cunt, fast and hard, but sweet and steady. A guttural moan escapes my open lips. “Oh, God, oh, God…I’m com…oh, God, ohhhhhh, G-g-g-g-goddddd!”

  Disheveled and disoriented, I am thrashing uncontrollably. Pussy pulsing. Clit throbbing. Heart racing. Marcel has done this to me.

  Damn him!

  “Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy?” The flight attendant’s gaze bounces back and forth between Marcel and me. “Ma’am…sir? Is everything okay over there?” Her voice and tone, both filled with concern as she assesses the nature of my outburst.

  My head lolls over in her direction. I open my mouth to tell her everything is just splendid, but my words come out in a slur.

  Marcel keeps stroking into my wetness. My breathing comes in shallow gasps. “Seizure,” he says coolly. “My wife gets them every so often.”

  Panic washes over the attendant’s face. She takes in my sweaty face. “Oh, no. Is there anything I can do? What can I bring her? Does she need medical attention?”

  Marcel finally withdraws his fingers from my dripping pussy, then eases his hand from in between my thighs. “Nah, we’re good.” He smiles wickedly. “I’m all the medicine she needs.” He licks his fingers, then slides them into my mouth. His lascivious antics cause the attendant’s face to flush. “Ain’t that right, baby?”

  I nod, sucking in his fingers. The flight attendant blinks. Looks down at me, then over at Marcel, realization filling her eyes. Her face flushes. Her mouth drops open as he leans in and slides his tongue into my mouth.

  He eyes her as she scurries off, then pulls his lips away from mine, grinning. He reclines his seat back. Drapes his blanket over his lap. Then slides his sweats and his boxers down over his hips, whispering, “Wrap them pretty lips around this hard dick, then come sit on it.”

  EIGHT

  Marcel

  “Good morning,” Marika says, opening the French doors and stepping out onto the terrace of our Hollywo
od Hills home. It’s a little after nine in the morning. She leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips.

  I frown. “Is that all I get?”

  Hand on hip; head tilted, she says, “What more would his High- ness like?”

  “You.”

  She just looks and smiles at me. It doesn’t take much more than that for my dick to stir. I close the entertainment section of the Los Angeles Times, setting it on the table beside my half-eaten bowl of fruit salad. “Uh, for starters,” I say, licking my lips. “Some tongue would be nice. So let’s try this again.”

  She shakes her head. Then smiles slow and sexy as she leans in so that she is only a breath away from my face. I stare into her long-lashed, brown eyes. My desires swim behind my pupils. I want her.

  I always want her.

  All of her.

  Her kissing. Her licking. Her sucking. Her fucking. Mouth and lips over this long dick. I want her lips glazed by my precum. Want her wet mouth full of this hard chocolate. Want her neck stretched. Want the back of her throat flooded with this thick, creamy nut. Want her swallowing and gulping and sucking. Want her licking around the inside of her mouth, gliding her tongue over her teeth, tasting, savoring every drop of me.

  Fuck what ya heard. My muhfuckin’ dick stays hard for Marika. I need her. Lust her. I’m always horny for her. She knows she’s the only woman I’m pussy whipped over.

  I love this fuckin’ woman. Love her hot, wet cunt. Love her wet mouth. Love her wanting tongue—the way it flicks and licks and laps and swirls around my dick. The way it swabs my heavy, cum-loaded balls.

  Word is bond. I’m ready to bust this nut.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Marika says. “You already have me.” Her lips press mine, and she kisses me like she means it. Her tongue slips inside my mouth, causing my dick to stretch. She pulls back. And as soon as it ends, I want more.

  I grin. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. It was already a good morning. But it’s definitely a better one now.” I slide my hand over her ass.

  “Oh, no,” she says, playfully slapping my hand away. She sits in the chair across from me. “Let me at least have breakfast, first.”

  I suck my teeth, giving her a “yeah-right” look. “Take them drawz off. I ain’t tryna hear all that. I got all the breakfast you need right here in this dick.” I drain the last of my cranberry juice, then unfasten the belt on my robe, leaning back in my seat and spreading my legs. I grab my dick. “Come on ‘n’ get this breakfast nut, baby.”

  Marika licks her lips. “Well, since you put it like that. How can I resist such a delicious invitation?”

  She stands and comes over toward me. I grab her by the waist. Tell her to straddle me. She does. I grin as she eases down onto my lap, opening her robe. She’s wearing a tiny lace thong underneath her red teddy.

  “Embrasse-moi,” I whisper in French, telling her to kiss me. She cups my face and kisses me, moaning into my mouth as my hands roam freely over her body, along her lower back, cupping her ass, kneading her tits, tweaking her nipples. I smack her ass. Not hard. But hard enough for it to echo and give her a sweet sting.

  She kisses me harder, her tongue melting into mine.

  I smack her ass again.

  And again.

  She cries out a little. Whimpers. Moans. She bites into my bottom lip. Then groans into my mouth. “MarSell, baby…”

  “Hmmm.” I slide my right hand up under her ass, grazing her lips. I slip a finger in. Then another. Then another. Three fingers deep, her pussy clamps tight as I fuck into her. Deep. Fast. My fingertip flicks over her clit, once, twice, thrice.

  Marika rocks her hips. Throws her head back. And moans as my fingers fuck and stretch her. My fingertips graze that spot that turns up the heat inside her pussy. My dick leaks sticky heat. My huge balls bubble, filling up with thick cream. I’m ready to bust this fuckin’ nut down into my baby’s throat.

  “Je veux tes lèvres sur ma bite, bébé.” Marika’s pussy drips onto my lap, wetting the shaft of my dick as I repeat in English, “I want your lips on my dick, baby…”

  I pull my fingers out of her, slipping each one into my mouth as Marika slides down onto her knees. Her face inches from my dick. She breathes me in. A mixture of hard horny cock and wet cunt stains.

  Marika’s mouth engulfs the head of my big black cock. Her head bobbing up and down as I grind my hips forward. She sucks me, one hand squeezing the thick base, then sliding up and down on it. She slobbers and drools and spits all over it.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby…mmm…fuck…you love sucking daddy’s big chocolate dick, don’t you, baby?”

  She responds with a grunt and a mouth full of spit-and-drool-covered dick, taking it to the back of her throat.

  • • •

  My cell rings. It’s Arianna, one of my many assistants calling from New York, tryna Skype me. I frown. What the fuck is she callin’ me for on a Saturday? I glance at the time. At one thirty in the afternoon?

  I accept the call. Arianna’s smooth, brown face comes up on the screen. I can’t front. She’s a beauty. Even without all the makeup. Her hair sits wild and curly all over her head. She licks her lips, then says, “I’m sorry for calling. But it couldn’t be helped. I’d thought you’d want to know before you heard it over social media.”

  “Before I heard what?” I ask, tryna keep my rising annoyance in check.

  “J-Smooth was arrested…”

  “What the fuck?!” I snap, feeling the vein in my neck pulse. “Again? When? Where? And what the fuck for this time?”

  “For assault, possession of weapons, and terroristic threats.”

  I stand, pacing the floor. “Yo, word is bond. You’ve got to be…fuckin’ kidding me.”

  She gives me a pitiful look, shaking her head. “I wish…”

  Jaquan Samuels, better known as J-Smooth, is one of my label’s R&B artists. I’d signed him to MK three years ago and watched his career soar. His last two albums, Portrait of A Man’s Soul and Tears & Trepidation, soared to the top of the Billboard charts and sold over 250,000 copies in its first week. And his album Tears & Trepidation won a 2013 Billboard Music Award.

  On some real shit, the cat has incredible vocals and lyrics to match. But lately this muhfucka’s been more of a liability than an asset. This is the third time his dumb-ass has been snatched up. The last incident six months ago was due to some corny-ass bar brawl with some rapper over some wet pussy. That of twenty-five-year-old R&B songstress Lydia Miles who they’d both been fucking at one time or another. Allegedly words were exchanged at some Miami nightspot, then the argument erupted into J-Smooth clocking dude upside the head with a bottle, knocking him unconscious and causing gunshots to be fired into the crowd.

  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 pony
tail.

  “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.”