I suck my teeth. “Whaaaaateva.”
He laughs. “Yo, you a piece’a work, for real, ma. But check this. The nastier you are, the hornier I get, so how ’bout you try bein’ nicer so a muhfucka don’t have’ta walk around wit’ a hard dick all day.”
“Don’t press ya luck.” I give ’im my address. He tells me he’s scoopin’ me up at six. I glance at the clock. It’s already eleven in the morning. Shit, I’ma need to get my ass in gear if I plan on bein’ ready by then. “And don’t come up here ringin’ my doorbell all late ’n wrong, either. ’Cause a bitch ain’t one for waitin’ ’round for no nigga.”
“Yo, chill. You ain’t gotta stress ’bout shit like that; I’ma on time type nigga. The only thing I ever make a chick wait for is this hot, creamy nut, feel me?”
I suck my teeth. “Nigga, you are so full of ya’self.”
He laughs. “Yo, I’m keepin’ shit real.”
“Whateva,” I say, dismissin’ ’im. “Where you takin’ me?”
“Relax. I got this.”
“Relax hell. I need’a know how’ta dress.”
“All you need to know is you wit’ me.”
“That’s not—”
“See, that’s ya problem, ma,” he says, cuttin’ me off. “You don’t know how’ta go wit’ da flow.”
“Oh, so you think you got me all figured out, hunh?”
“Nah, not really; but I know what I know.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you like givin’ muhfuckas a hard time.”
“That’s not true,” I say defensively. “I’ma cool-ass chick; I’m just not beat to be sweatin’ a nigga’s balls.”
He laughs. “You wanna see a muhfucka beg, that’s all. But, check this. I ain’t one for beggin’, but I’ve been makin’ you an exception, for now.”
I raise my brow. “Oh, puhleeeze. And then what?”
“And then I’ma have you beggin’. See you at six.” The muhfucka disconnects the call before I can open my mouth to say sumthin’ slick. I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve never had
a nigga hang up on me! And here this muthafucka comes disconnectin’ me not once, but twice, in one damn day! The crazy shit is I feel like the nigga done struck a match on my clit and set my pussy on fire. My insides have gone up in flames, and the nigga got me wantin’ some’a that dick!
AT EXACTLY SIX O’CLOCK, MY DOORBELL RINGS. I PURPOSEFULLY take my time gettin’ to the door, not wantin’ to come off lookin’ all thirsty ’n anxious ’n whatnot. On some real shit, inside I am a nervous fuckin’ mess. The last muhfucka who came to my spot to pick me up ’n take me out on a date was Grant. I close my eyes. Picture him standin’ at the door. Remember how fine ’n sexy the nigga was; how I straddled up on that muhfucka, foggin’ up the windows of his whip, and let ’im slide his thick fingas deep in my pussy ’n fuck me ’til he had me feelin’ like I was bein’ dug out wit’ a dick.
Therrrssp! Therrrsp! Those thoughts become replaced wit’ the nigga’s skull leakin’; blood splatterin’ up against the wall. The sound of the doorbell ringin’, followed by bangin’, snaps me back to the present. I catch myself starin’ at my reflection in the full-length wall mirror. I blink, blink again, shakin’ the shit off. I take a deep breath, peepin’ my wears; pleased wit’ my look. I decided to keep it cute in a red knee-grazin’ wrap dress and’a pair of black Manolo Blahnik six-inch, lace-up, cut-out boots. My titties pop just enough to let the nigga know what’s what. But, I ain’t pressed to be givin’ his ass too much sexiness, not all at once; only a taste.
I head downstairs. Take another deep breath, tellin’ myself to relax, to keep it cute. Bitch, get ya mind right, the nigga ain’t no-good; all he is is a hot meal and— maybe, a good fuck! I swing open the door. He’s leanin’ up on the doorframe wit’ a huge smile plastered ’cross his face. His fitted hat is dropped down low, coverin’ his eyes. This muhfucka,” I think, steppin’ back and invitin’ ’im in, wit’ his sexy ass.
“Damn, yo,” he says, removin’ his fitted and lettin’ his eyes roam my body. “You lookin’ good as hell, baby.” I give ’im the evil eye. He throws his hands up, grinnin’. “I know, I know. Quit callin’ you baby. For once, cut a cat some slack. You sexy, ma.”
I don’t know why bein’ alone wit’ this nigga has my nerves so rattled. I need a blunt and a shot’a sum nigga juice—Rèmy, Henny; sumthin’ dark and hard! And a taste of this chocolate nigga’s dick milk, I think, pressin’ a grin on my face. “Of course I am; I’m that bitch, thought you knew.”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiight.” His eyes wander ’round the living room. “Nice spot.”
“Thanks. Have a seat. I’ll be ready in two minutes.”
I catch the nigga lickin’ his lips. “You look ready now,” he says wit’ sex drippin’ from his tone.
“Whaaaaat eva,” I say, poppin’ my hips outta the room goin’ into my powder room to put on a coat of lipstick—sumthin’ I rarely wear, followed by a coat of lipgloss to give my lips that juicy, I’ll-suck-a-dick-all-night-long look.