For Nadia - Merry Christmas, bewbee. Make sure PassionOfANigga doesn’t find this one.
babe, if I don’t feel it, I aint fakin no,no..
I consider myself to be a master of words. A connoisseur of the English language and all of its tones. I’m brilliant with terms and a beast with expressions. Yet, as I sit here, at this table, in this restaurant, I find that I’m unable to think of the perfect word to describe how I feel in this moment.
Annoyed isn’t strong enough.
Angry doesn’t cover enough ground to encompass my nerves.
Exasperated may suffice but phonetically the word doesn’t work for me.
A sigh sifts up my throat and eases out from between my painted lips. I straighten my shoulders, telling myself that if my older sister, Kennedi was here she would urge me to sit like a lady. The thought makes me frown and seconds later I sigh into a slouch, mentally telling my sister to fuck off. She is not here. She is 4300 miles away, back home in the States.
I’m in Paris. How I ended up here, I don’t quite remember. Actually, I do. It rooted from a late night phone call with my best friend, Brittney. Her sobs had alarmed me, jerking me out of my bed and forcing me to make the ten minute drive to her apartment. To my dismay, when I arrived she’d been making a nasty green juice concoction and watching season 6 of Sex and the City. Her face was free and clear of tears, her hair was in pincurls and on her body was a vivid red kimono that only she would wear around the house.
I was instantly annoyed and made no attempts to hide the fact that she’d used her dramatics to pull me out of bed.
“Dia, sit down, this is the good episode.”
“You say that about every episode.” I’d murmured with an eyeroll.
“Because this season is so good. Though the depiction of Sam Jones with cancer is half-assed… and then there’s that episode where she wore that afro wig and called herself a sistah,” She paused, clicking her tongue in her mouth as annoyance danced over her features. I’d heard this rant a million times and every time she got irritated just talking about it. “It gets me mad just thinking about it, but I still love her though. She’s everything and that bitch Carrie is trash.”
“Carrie is the worst fictional bitch ever, second only to Moesha.” My voice was drab as I repeated the statement she’d pounded into my head over the years.
“I still can’t believe how she treated Aidan.” I added numbly.
“Oh my god, Dia! Exactly!”
“I’m going home.” I turned on my heels towards the door.
“Dia, noo!” She ranted, racing from the couch and over to my laggard frame.
“Brit, I’m tired. I’ve been working on my essay all day and I just want to go home and sleep.”
“No. I’m already pissed that you used your dramatics to get me here. You’re walking around in that dumb ass robe and watching this stupid show.” I huffed. “I’m gonna go home now and maybe when I wake up tomorrow I won’t still be pissed about you being a dramatic bitch.”
She gasped, clutching the silken threads of her kimono. “First of all, this kimono is perfection. It gives me all the opulence and decadence I could ask for but you still wear hoodies so I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She smirked at her dig. I ignored it, tucking my hands deeper into the pockets of my hoodie. “Second, I’m lonely.”
“You’re never lonely. You love being alone.”
“That’s true but tonight I just don’t want to be.”
“Not my business.” Again I moved towards the door. And again she blocked my path.
“I’ll make you chili tomorrow night. Not that nasty shit your mom makes but real, good, authentic chili.” Silently, I weighed my options. I thought of my mom’s chili that mostly derived from a can, then I thought of Brittney’s that was rich in flavor and usually had me going back for seconds.
She knew me well enough to know that I was caving and smiled victoriously when I didn’t give a verbal answer. I sighed as she led me over to the couch and pulled my hoodie off as soon as my body hit the plush surface.
“I hate you so much.” I groaned, watching her take my hoodie, holding it between her thumb and pointer as though the garment was covered in slime. “Uppity ass.”
“I’m not uppity, I simply have standards.”
“I do too.”
“Of course you do.” She smirked. “This material is so rough, I’m afraid it will ruin my manicure. What is this shit even made of?”
“The same thing that ugly ass robe is made of.” I hedged, grinning in satisfaction when she gasped.
“Girl please, this robe is made from silk charmeuse. This silk comes from only the finest, most sickening silkworms in all of Japan. Pay it, hunty.” With that she strode away, leaving her robe to float behind her.
Left with nothing else to do, I cackled. She was absolutely ridiculous and easily the most dramatic person I’d ever met in my life. There was never a time when her emotions weren’t on ten. When she was happy she was the happiest and when she was sad one would think her entire family had been slaughtered in front of her. She was truly a movie. Her every expression put each and every one of her facial muscles to use. Her mannerisms could rival some of the best queens on Drag Race. And half the shit she said doubled as comedy despite the fact that nine times out of ten she was serious.
“I made juice.” She sat, shoving a cup in my direction.
I barely spared the green liquid a glance as I shifted away from her. “I don’t want that shit.”
“Dia, it’s good for you.”
“Nah, no thanks. You got some Kool-Aid?”
Her gasp came first and then her frown. “I would never drink that mess.”
“And I would never drink that mess.” I gestured to the cup.
“It’s actually really delicious and really good for you.” She sipped from her own glass. “Especially seeing as though your immunity is that of a newborn.” When I gave no response, she huffed, placing the drink she’d brought for me on the table. It was close enough for me to reach but deep down she knew that I wouldn’t.
“This is the good part.” She beamed, grabbing the remote. Seconds later the screen flashed with images of Smith fucking Samantha twelve ways from Sunday. “I love her so much.” Brittney cooed as though she hadn’t seen this episode a million times.
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed and then stood, stretching, “I’m going to bed.”
“No, Dia, no!”
“Did you not hear me say I was tired? You already woke me up and now I’m here. At least let me sleep.”
“You’re only tired because you’ve been working on that damn essay. I told you last week it was good, yet you’re still tweaking it.”
“I just want it to be perfect.”
“It is perfect.” I brushed the compliment off. The essay wasn’t perfect. There was so much to be done, so much room for improvement. “It is.” She insisted, reading my thoughts. “You’re going to submit that essay and you’re going to get into Columbia and slay.”
Her words activated my anxiety and butterflies met for a meeting in my belly. It was something I tried not to think about. Yet, it was all I could think about. For as long as I could remember, I’ve wanted to go to Columbia for their journalism program – it was the best in the country. And for a long time it seemed unattainable until Brittney underhandedly filled out my application and paid the fee. It wasn’t until I received the packet for the second part of the process that I realized what she’d done.
For a week I teetered between annoyed and grateful. Between terrified and excited. I was currently in school to become a school teacher. It was something I thought would be fulfilling but according to Brittney, I deserved to be more than fulfilled. According to her, I deserved to be running over with satisfaction. I deserved to be happy not just content. I deserved to do what I loved the most – write.
It all seemed really easy to her. She expected me to write an essay, submit it and get in – voilà. But to me it was deeper. To me this was everything and I couldn’t help but think that because I wanted it so badly that I wouldn’t get it. What if my best wasn’t good enough? What if my best effort was turned down by the best school, my dream school?
“And since you’re bringing this up –“
“You brought this up.” I sighed.
“Since you were so eager to talk to me about this,” She snapped, cutting her eyes at me. “It reminds me that I have something to talk to you about.”
“What?” I fell onto the couch, knowing this wouldn’t be quick.
“Well, since you’re going to leave me and go to Columbia, I was thinking that maybe we should spend our last summer together.”
“Brittney, what the hell are you talking about? First off, I’m not even in –“
“And second, you’re moving to fucking New York… you’ve been talking about it for eons!”
“But you’re going to be too busy for me. You’re going to find writer friends to dress ugly and be weird with and you’re going to forget about me. I know it! You already have an affinity for quotes and shit.”
“Oh my god, Brittney!”
“I’m just saying.” Her face was neutral, meaning she was absolutely serious and saw none of what she was saying as ridiculous. Her ability to add sense to what was completely senseless still amazed me after years of friendship.
“You are being ridiculous.”
“Anyways,” She sang, smiling. “We’re going to spend the summer, together in Europe. I was thinking Amsterdam first then London and from there Paris. Did you know it’s literally like a two hour train ride between the two cities?!”
“I’m not going to Europe.” I frowned, stood and trekked towards her bedroom, ignoring her calls.
Now I find myself sitting and regretting not being more firm in my decline. It took her all of three days to convince me. She’d printed out our itinerary and presented a slide show that was extremely too detailed. She’d cajoled me into saying yes and because my verbal agreement wasn’t enough for her, she made me sign a dumb ass contract.
The thought makes me glare at her but she misses it. She’s too caught up in the eyes she’s described as chocolate pools of dreams and hot fantasies. Still I stare, I want to melt holes in her cheeks with my glare so that she’ll never forget that it’s wrong to pull your friends into situations they clearly don’t want to be in.
I allowed her to drag me across the world, stopping in multiple cities. I allowed her to talk me into trying food that I wouldn’t normally eat and doing silly touristy stuff that to me was a waste of money. Hell, I even allowed her to dictate most of what I packed – she’d actually included that as a clause in her contract.
She’d been fine in Amsterdam and okay in London but Paris brought out the most annoying aspects of her or maybe it was this nigga she couldn’t stay away from that amplified her worst qualities.
She said we were going to dinner. She made me wear heels and a dress that doubled as skin. She promised me a good time and said that I could order the unhealthiest thing on the menu. I was all for it. What she did not mention was that when we arrived there would be two others waiting outside for us. My steps had faltered as I took in the towering frames. My glare had instantly landed on my best friend and she quickly counteracted with a smile that could rival the sun.
Brittney is stubborn and calculated and a bitch and I should have known better.
Our last summer together get-away had quickly turned into an international fuckathon for Brittney. And frankly, I wasn’t mad at her. She needed an outlet for her dramatics. And because she was an amazing friend she sought out to find me a biodegradable sex toy of my own. His name was Laurent. He was Larry’s twin and he was walking perfection.
From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew, I just knew he would ruin me in the most perfect way possible. It was in his walk and the way his lips stretched into a smile. It was the way his eyes glistened and the smooth sound of his voice. He was easily the most gorgeous man I’d seen and after being around him for a mere five minutes, I knew I wanted to fuck.
The notion that Paris had the best lovers had me more than excited. The fact that he was a dancer had me damn near on the brink of an aneurism as I imagined him moving his hips between my thighs the way I’d seen him do in the dancing videos Brittney had shown me. It had been more than a long time since I’d had good, good sex. Like, a very long time. And I just knew Laurent would change my world.
And he did but in the worst way possible.
The sex offered nothing. It was as bland as white brand – untoasted. And to make matters worse it ended so quickly. One minute I was hissing as he slid into me and the next I was staring blankly at the ceiling as I tried to figure out what had gone wrong.
Our chemistry had been amazing or maybe the fact that I wanted to fuck him so badly forced me to believe that we actually had chemistry. We both seemed to be on the same accord at dinner and then at the club but it was when we arrived back to me and Brit’s temporary apartment that things went downhill.
My eagerness to have him led to me sucking him off before sitting on his face. His dick was impressive – so impressive that as soon I finished giving him head, I pushed my own favor the side. Opting to have his dick instead of his tongue. That had been the biggest mistake ever. He left with two good nuts under his belt and I laid in bed too pissed to even masturbate.
I can recall Brittney’s laughter as I told her how horrible he had been and when she was done laughing she proceeded to tell me how Larry ate it from the back.
Now I’m sitting across from him. And I’m pissed about it.
I wonder how I’ve been cursed with the type of bestfriend who would set me up with a guy, knowing I fucked him and knowing his dick game was wack. Like, what’s wrong with her?
The thought makes me glare at her but she’s not paying attention. I then look at Larry, who according to her is the supreme of good dick. His disappointing twin is the last person my eyes land on and I’m not at all surprised to find his gaze riveted on me. He’s been staring all night.
I wonder if he’s embarrassed. He should be. Guys like him should be required to wear a sign that reads, Dick Game: Mediocre. Guys like him should be outlawed, or gay. In fact, I wish that he was gay. Him being into guys is the only excuse that can validate his lack of everything.
My face is slack as I peer at him. His stare does nothing to me. Actually, it annoys me. This whole situation annoys me.
“Nadia.” The voice comes from across from me. It belongs to the twin who’s been eye fucking my friend all night.
“Dia!” Brittney elbows me. “Don’t be rude.”
“Yes, Larry.” I coo sweetly, shooting Brittney a glare.
“I hear you get into Columbia. Congratulations.”
His words make me smile. “Thank you, Larry.”
“Dia, is brilliant. I knew she would get in. She’s so good!” Brittney boasts and I lower my head because her words feel too good. I hate it when she does this. “Everything she writes is genius.”
“You write?” This time it’s the other twin that speaks.
“She didn’t tell you, Laurent?” Brittney quizzes.
“No.” He shakes his head.
He’s right. I didn’t tell him. My bio didn’t seem to fit in between all the nasty things I’d whispered in his ear as we cabbed it back to my place.
“What you write?”
“Words.” I answer and I’m rewarded with another elbow.
“You funny.” Larry chuckles only I’m not being funny. I’m being serious.
I don’t want Laurent talking to me. He insulted me in the worst way possible and frankly he isn’t worthy of my time or presence.
“She’s fucking hilarious.” Brittney grunts.
“I have to use the restroom.” I stand, placing my napkin on the table. I adjust my dress, ignoring Laurent’s lusty gaze. Under normal circumstances his heated stare would send warmth straight to my panties but I know what he’s capable of and it’s nothing short of disappointing.
I move around the table and down the two steps, pacing towards the restroom. The restaurant is filled with laughter and happiness and the delicious aroma of masterfully prepared food. The food is the reason I want to stay but the company is the reason I duck out of the front door instead of going to the ladies room.
The muggy summer air greets me, wrapping around my scantily clad frame. It feels good out here, so good in fact that I wave the valet who is offering to hail me a cab off. I opt for walking. I can use the time to think and I don’t mind exploring the neighborhood we’ll be calling home for the next month.
By the time I arrive home and trek to the top floor, I’m cloaked in sweat and breathless. The walk hadn’t seemed like a bad idea but it proved to be one. The tight ass dress that constantly had to be adjusted, my Marley twists that seemed to get heavier with every block I walked, the skinny heels that got caught in every other cobble stone and my constantly buzzing phone all acted as annoyances, making my walk more strenuous than planned.
I’m in the shower minutes after arriving home. The hot water feels amazing whizzing down my skin and the steam eases away all the tension the night has accumulated. I’m washing with Brittney’s expensive body wash and using her coveted facial exfoliate to exfoliate my body. It’s inconsiderate but so is she.
When I get out I treat my face to her favorite moisturizer, serum and toner. I don’t know which order to apply them in but my face feel great after so I go with it.
The apartment is the perfect temperature and I forgo my normal pajama pants opting for a gossamer night dress that I stole from my twin. I can remember being with her when she bought it and questioning why it was so pricey. It’s a fairly simple piece but as it slides and glides over my body I realize why she invested so much – it feels amazing.
I move to the kitchen in search of something to eat. I’m starving. I should’ve stayed at the restaurant long enough to eat my food but the setting just wasn’t my cup of tea.
I sit at the small kitchen table eating leftover pasta. It’s Brittney’s and I know she’ll be pissed when she finds it gone. I go over the list of things I’ve done thus far to piss her off and still I feel like I haven’t done enough to get her back.
When I’m done eating I find myself on the couch. It’s comfortable and wildly expensive, I can tell. It’s nothing like mine back at home, which I got from IKEA. It reminds me of the one Brit has. She got hers from Design Within Reach and teases me about my cheaper one, yet mine has a ten-year warranty and hers has nothing.
I finally acknowledge my phone and grin seeing all the angry text messages. The first ten messages are threats and the rest is acceptance and finally an apology. It makes me grin. I’m glad she’s seen the error of her ways but she’s still a terrible person.
not coming home tonight
The text comes through as I’m still holding my phone and I groan, annoyed. I know her night away will only lead to more stories of how perfect Larry is.
cause I’ll be cumming all night.. get it?
She adds and I roll my eyes in frustration. I go to text her back but a rapid series of knocks sound at the door. I move from position on the couch and my bare feet thump against the cool floor as I pace.
I pull the door open expecting to see Brittney but instead I see a twin. A twin with warm brown eyes and plush lips. I sigh, leaning against the frame as I take him in.
“Why are you here?” The question is blatant. I don’t have time for niceties or to beat around the bush.
His throat bobs as he swallows and his narrowed gaze drops, taking in my clothes or lack off. I shift, distributing the majority of my weight to my left side. I feel the heat of his stare on my thigh but I ignore. There is nothing he can do for me.
“Laurent?” I call agitated.
“Oh.” Suddenly he remembers he’s not here to strip away my garments with his eyes. “You leave because of me?” I nearly smile. I like how he jumps straight to the point. Too bad he does that when it comes to everything…
“I left because I didn’t feel like being around people.” I hope he will take that info as a hint and leave.
“Or being around me.”
“Have you really done that much to impact my life?” My words are acid to his skin and he visibly flinches as he’s burned down to his subcutaneous tissue.
“Ouch.” A chuckle slides up his throat and enters the quiet of the hall.
In the distance I hear the clack of heels on the stone floors. I wonder if they’re coming or going. Since being here I’ve learned that Parisians come alive in the night time. They have dinner significantly later than Americans and party much later too. It’s not much of an adjustment for me seeing as though I’m a night owl.
“Can I come in?”
“Talk?” I chuckle. “I’m not fucking you, Laurent.”
“I don’t remember saying I want that from you.” His words offend me and I physically recoil. What else could he possibly want from me?
“Well, what do you want?”
He smiles. “To talk.”
I want to tell him that his English is subpar and not good enough to speak to me but I don’t. Instead I slide to the side, sighing as he enters. I’m not sure why I let him in. boredom, curiosity maybe?
“What do you write?” the question catches me off guard.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He grins.
His eyes narrow as they trace over my face. He licks his lips and clears his throat. He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. He’s in listener’s posture. He’s serious.
“Everything.” I shrug. It’s an odd question coming from him but it’s something he’s clearly curious about. He’s asked it twice already.
“I don’t know. Love, romance, sex, tragedy.”
“You like tragedy?” I expect him to smirk at the mention of sex. Most guys do. They use it as a pathway to ask dumb questions about my favorite position.
“I love tragedy.”
“I like the power it gives me over emotion.” I keep the answer simple. It’s the only way to keep me from looking like the sadistic writer that I am.
He takes my words into consideration, tilting his head and biting his lip. “You know, when Brittney say you good, at restaurant, you look down. You not believe?”
“I’m okay. I mean… it’s a very thin line between seeming arrogant and simply gracious. I know I’m good but to say, she’s right I’m the shit would seem a bit arrogant.”
“Then be arrogant.” He shrugs. I smile, not because what he’s said makes me happy but I love simple people. People who are on or off, black or white. My world is full of a million tones of gray and his stark white hue is appealing.
“People say you’re arrogant?”
“They do.” He nods. “But me in my brother the best. Why I deny that or act shy when they same I am. I say thank you and I agree.”
I’m shocked by how much our conversation fills me up. Nearly two hours have slid past unnoticed and we have talked about everything. He’s intelligent and surprisingly thoughtful. One of the first things I noticed about him was how much he talked, how he often cut through his brother’s words. I’d pegged him as rude and extra but he wasn’t. He was a thinker and a good listener and an intellectual who sometimes tripped over his English.
“You always wear those knee pads?” The question has been on my mind for a while now but I never saw fit to ask it. A break in our conversation has proven to be the perfect time.
I’ve left the couch where I once sat a few feet away from him. His presence was beginning to close in on me. The way his lips moved as he spoke. The way his eyes lit up when he mentioned dance and the passion he has for it. The way he paused to think of words and sighed when he couldn’t find the right one. He was really perfect. And he was turning me on. But it was dumb to let myself drown in lust because he couldn’t save me.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Sometime for dance, always for us style.” The error makes me cringe.
“You and Larry?”
“Yes.” A sound comes from my throat as I stand near the kitchen, watching him. He’s so fine.
“Laurent?” His eyes leave his phone and land on me, dragging over my thighs before seeking out my face. “Come here.” I say when I have his attention.
He stands to his full height and I chew my tongue as I watch him pace over to me. I count the many attributes of his that I deem as wasteful. He doesn’t deserve to be this sexy. His capabilities don’t match his disposition and physical appearance. It’s appalling.
When he stops in front of me, I inhale, relishing in his cologne. It’s fresh and easygoing. I like that his scent is light because everything else about him is heavy. His presence is massive, from the abundance of jewelry he wears to his height. Adding a loud fragrance to the mix would only be offensive.
I inhale again. I don’t remember smelling it last time or maybe I was just too caught up in everything else. Everything else includes him between my thighs, giving me nothing but a headache.
“On your knees.” The command slides from between my lips.
His face instantly drops and his eyes narrow. I see his confusion and a little bit of curiosity. The curiosity sparks a flame in my belly – it excites me. “What?” Humor lingers under the question. He’s probably wondering what this American girl is talking about.
“Get on your knees.” My impatience is present in my tone. I make no attempts to hide it.
I watch as the curiosity expands, overpowering the confusion. I’m grateful for the little bit of understanding he’s seemingly acquired. I would hate to have to explain things to him or worse, put him out.
I watch him lower his tall frame to the floor, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. Though he’s obviously curious about my request, uncertainly lingers in his movements. My grin stretches as his knees join the wooden floor. I bask in the dominance I feel. It heats my skin and moistens my center.
I pull a chair from the table, keeping my eyes on Laurent. When it’s positioned where I want it, I sit, spreading my thighs almost immediately. His eyes follow the movement, lingering on my crotch, which feels heated and sensitive.
“You remember how I sucked you dick that night?” With the question, I lift my leg, placing in gingerly over his broad shoulder. “How hard you came?” I watch him with a smirk. His brows raise and his throat bobs. “Remember?” I quiz, lifting the other leg.
It’s then that he realizes I’m not wearing panties. He tugs his lips into his mouth then exhales through his nose. The stream of air strokes my thigh in the most illicit way. I have to fight not to moan.
“I remember.” He finally speaks, nodding.
He surprises me by keep his hands at his side. My pussy is mere inches away from his face and he somehow keeps it together. His control is amazing and I want to break it.
“Return the favor.” It’s not a question or a suggestion but a demand.
Surprise shimmies down my spine when he grips my thighs, pulling me to the very edge of the chair. The change spreads me wider and puts me closer to his face. I watch him watch me. His stare is hard, his eyes are bright and his lips are damp because of his constantly sweeping tongue. I blink, imagining his lush lips wet with my juices. The thought sends me spiraling and my inner thigh clenches in anticipation.
When he leans in, inhaling, I say a silent prayer. I pray for strength and I pray that I am not disappointed – again. However, when his fingers spread me and his tongue lashes against my clit I know that I won’t be.
I gasp, bucking forward, as I’m not prepared for him to be so good with his tongue. His chuckle is smug. He knows I doubted his ability and now he plans to make me eat my words.
His tongue is viscous. It’s thorough. It’s agile. It snakes and rolls and laps and coils. Its strums my clit, focusing on the underside. It lavishes my opening, greedily accepting the juices that are pooling from my body. He’s good at this and he knows it.
His hands squeeze my thighs as my fingers curl within his twists. I need him to know what he’s doing is amazing. I pull his hair and grind against his mouth to show him because I will never say the words aloud.
I think my silence prompts him to work harder. He’s sucking my clit and fucking me with his tongue. He’s missing nothing but still I refuse to give him what he wants.
I shudder as his tongue slides up the length of me. The furious flicks morph into slow laps and the change nearly detonates my spine. My eyes fly open and my grip on his hair loosens as he massages my clit with his tongue. I can feel the bud swelling in reaction to him and I gasp out.
What he’s doing to me is beautiful and I can barely handle it. Instead of his hair, I grip the chair. I need something sturdier – I need to stay centered.
When I look down at him our eyes collide. There’s an insatiable hunger in his that renders me breathless, speechless and dumb. For a minute, I forget my purpose in life. I forget my name and why I’m even in Paris. I forget my plight with him and the fact that hours prior I ditched him at a restaurant. But he hasn’t forgotten and he’s out for vengeance.
He pushes out a moan as he stares into my eyes. It’s long and hot and it vibrates against my clit and every nerves ending. It’s the very reason I scream out. It’s the reason my head falls back and my eyes slam shut.
The heels of my feet dig into his back and my thighs tighten around his head as a scream rips my mouth open. I hate myself for reacting – for giving him so much. I clamp my mouth shut in an effort to lock my reactions in and as though he knows my motives, he pries my thighs opens, burying his face deeper.
My breathing is choppy and erratic. He’s stroking my clit with his tongue and caressing my opening with his fingers. My body is locking and releasing. My pussy is spasming. I’m dying.
His tongue is silky with its attack. His gaze is sensuous and refuses to leave me. I briefly wonder who I fucked before. That person had no passion, not heat – this person is burning me alive. My thoughts confuse me. My questions bombard me. However, he doesn’t allow me to swim my pool of thoughts. He yanks me up in his grip, reminding me that in this moment I belong to him.
Ready to pass out from ecstasy, I huff. This is exhausting but I never want it to end. His mouth is a miracle and his tongue – sweet Jesus.
The fact that I’m sure this can’t get and better relaxes me. It eases the tension on my thighs and slows the pounding of my heart. I’m satiated with the vat of pleasure I’m drowning in and because I’m realistic, I know that I cannot take much more. But Laurent is a sadist who is determined to have me cry for him. He knows my body is hanging by a thread. He knows that I’m mere seconds away from climaxing like I’ve never climaxed before. He knows this because he’s the sole reason behind my sensitized state. He also knows that slipping a finger in will kill me and that’s exactly why he does it.
As soon as his fingers enter me, stroking upward, I cry out. I mutter his name and scream for my black Jesus. I squirm and I shake. I grip whatever is around me. His head is closest. I pull his twists and he moans, further torturing me.
At this point I’m shaking. I’m sure the residents of the building think there’s an earthquake taking place but in reality it’s just me, cumming. His tongue whispers against my clit as his finger dances against my vibrating walls. An immense wave of heat shoots down my spine, burrowing itself in my womb, prompting my pussy to spasm.
“Laurent!” His name echoes through the apartment. When we’re done and he’s long gone it will still be there. “Laur –“ I try again only for my voice to crack and crumble as my body gushes a warm liquid that coats my thighs and Laurent’s lips. “Oh, God.” I coo, unable to take the pleasure and what’s happening to me.
I don’t want to believe what my body has just managed to do but the evidence drenches my thighs and Lau wastes no time cleaning me, moaning the entire way through.
“Please,” I beg as my entire being vibrates. “Pleasee.” I need him to stop but still he is licking. He’s pouring gasoline on a flame that’s already out of control.
He pauses and I silently thank him for sparing my life. But my gratitude is fruitless and goes out of the window when he stands, lifting me in a swift motion.
My body is floating, both literally and figuratively. I’m in the air and I’m high. My head is centimeters below the ceiling and my thighs are quivering. The way I feel is anything but normal but still I embrace it. I cradle it to my chest just like I cradle Laurent’s face in between my thighs.
My legs are hanging over his shoulder and they bounce as he moves. I briefly wonder how he’s able to navigate the space with such finesse. However, the thought vanishes when he lowers me onto the smooth surface of the countertop. The stone is cold against my skin and it is the reason I shudder.
I peer at Laurent as he stands between my thighs. His gaze is dark and it pries. It bypasses walls that I’ve erected and shifts curtains that I’ve closed. His eyes challenge me and I’ve never been one to give up a challenge.
His face closes in on mine. I take in the silky hair along his hair line, his sparse brows, the small scar near his forehead, eyes that are a mystical infusion of chocolate and a mustache that is clearly in its early stages. My hand raises to his cheek and I snatch it away once it touches his skin. I hate the tenderness he’s activated within me.
“You should go.”
He smiles. He is unphased. “You want me to leave, Nadia?” My name lingers on his tongue as does my taste.
“Yeah.” I shrug. I’m searching for my normal sense of carelessness. And it’s impossible to find. It annoys me.
“You gonna eat my pussy again?”
“You want that?”
I shrug. “You’re good at it.”
“I good at other things too.” I kiss my teeth. “Let me show you.” He kisses my neck and tugs the flimsy material of my gown down, exposing the rise of my breasts.
I silently weigh my options. I’m still horny. Hell, I always horny. But I can’t deny that his head has triggered something inside of me that won’t rest until I’m cumming again and again. Yet, the first time we fucked had been terrible. It had left me devastated. I’d put so much into what I thought he would be only to be disappointed.
Things in the land below had been pretty slow. Activity was nonexistent and frankly it was depressing. I hadn’t gone without sex for this long since I started having sex years ago. My schedule hadn’t enabled me to meet anyone worth fucking and my pride and penchant for new toys wouldn’t allow me to call any old conquests up. So, I’d been trekking through the Sahara since breaking up with my ex many months ago. And when I saw Laurent, I just knew he would be the iciest glass of water but he turned out to be the human personification of Brittney’s green juice – epically disappointing.
Blame my dry spell or the fact that I’m still high from his tongue lashing – I know one of them have to be the reason for the way I spread my thighs and grip his hair, guiding him to my neck.
“Don’t make me regret this.” I groan as his tongue teases the skin above my pulse.
“Is nothing to regret.” He replies and seconds later my pajamas are being tossed across the room.
He drugs me with kisses and punishes me with bites. His hands are soft but firm in their exploration of my body. His tongue paints fire on the surface of my skin, leaving me writhing in the flames. He’s undoubtedly poisoning me with pleasure.
I moan out as his lips wrap around my nipple. His hand is between my thighs and he’s worshipping my clit with his fingers. He’s learned what I liked and now he won’t stop.
My hands move to his head then his neck and then his shoulders. The pleasure coursing through my veins is too much. The anticipation coating my skin is excessive. I tell myself to calm down. The fact that I got so eager last time is the very reason I left his ass sitting with his twin and my bestfriend hours ago. I rushed last time and I don’t want to make the mistake again.
I shift, knowing I’m soaking the countertop. I can’t wait to watch Brittney eat her breakfast here. And I can’t wait until she takes her last bite so that I can tell her what I’ve done. The thought makes me smile but Laurent’s tongue makes me moan.
“Good God,” I whimper as my body swarms with heat.
My thighs spread wider as my womb clenches hungrily. My body is ticking again and threatening to explode. My bones feel brittle as the pressure of bliss presses against them. My heart is races at a speed that only anticipation and pleasure can produce. The moans that I once tried to contain are now whizzing through the air.
His face leaves my chest and he stands to his full height, peering at me. “Feel good?” I refuse to answer his question. It’s a dumb one. My body is nearly levitating and I can’t seem to shut up, yet he’s asking me how it feels.
When seconds go by without a reply, he smirks, pausing. My mouth flies open as my heart slams against my rib cage. My protest builds in my chest, but before I can speak he does. “You no hear me? I ask you question.”
“Laurent.” I try only for him to smirk. His head tilts and his eyes glow as he regards me. I’m reminded yet again of how gorgeous he is. “Why are you playing?” The question makes him smile.
“You rush for something?”
“I don’t like to be teased.”
“You like to rush?”
“No. I just don’t like to be teased.”
“Last time you rush.” The fact that he causally brings that tragedy up astounds me.
“Is that your excuse?” I dig.
He smirks. “I make no excuse.” I don’t know how to feel about his carelessness.
“So, unless it’s your way it can’t be good?” My brow shoots up in a challenge. His face remains unchanged. It’s a weird mix of neutral and smug.
“No. I never say that. I say, you rushing and I see no point in you rush.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with me being ready to fuck like, right now.” He smiles. “I’m so ready.” The words are whimpered as my eagerness caves my chest in. I’ve morphed into a thirst princess and I’m ashamed.
“I ready too.” He gestures down to his dick. It’s hard and sits against his thigh. I know he has to be uncomfortable straining against his jeans like that. “But I take my time because to see you in pleasure work better for me. To make you feel good, to make you scream and cum and squirt all make it better for me in the end. So I be patient. I wait. I show you pleasure and then…”
“So you don’t believe in quickies?”
“I believe make love should never be quick.”
“I’m not asking to be made love to. That’s so intimate. Fucking is fine for me.”
“I no think fucking fine for you because I fuck you last time and you look like you want me to choke and die tonight.” He smirks. “And what’s wrong with intimacy?”
“It’s too personal… too close.” I try to explain but fail. “It’s not suitable for us.”
He doesn’t get offended. I watch him accept my words and then digest them. His lips purse as he thinks of his own. His eyes lower and he tugs at the sparse hairs sprinkled along his chin. “I think that’s the problem with Americans. You hear make love and you get scared. You scared of intimacy and because of that you don’t knows what pleasure is, what passion is.” His voice is like velvet and his eyes rests on mine as he speaks. “Make love not mean I love you. To me it mean me showing I passionate about making you feel good. Fucking mean I want to just cum.” His fingers trail down my inner thighs. “I don’t want to fuck you. That not make you happy. I want to make love to you. I want to hear you scream and make every part of you feel good. I want to make you cum more times than you ever do before. And every time you cum, I want you to think of me.” He reaches the apex of my thighs and groans, finding more moisture. “If you scared for intimacy you never get what you deserve, Nadia.”
His words leave me breathless and speechless. His touch has me on fire. I try to focus but I can’t. It’s nearly impossible now. His fingers are sliding through my glazed heat. They linger on my clit, circling. It takes no time for heat to re-embed itself in my every fiber. It takes no time for body to start rocking as my orgasm climbs my spine.
His eyes have yet to leave mine. I find that I like his stare. It doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable like I usually do when the other guys I’ve fucked watch me. There’s lust in his gaze – hunger – but there’s also concern and tenderness.
“You understand what I say?” The question is delayed. I’m guessing it’s because he’s so caught up in watching me fall apart.
“Yes.” I breathe only for a whimper to dice the word up. “Yessss.”
My body rocks as my nerves gather for my destruction. His fingers are still circling as my body launches itself into a pit of pleasure. I try to scream to ease the pressure in my chest but nothing comes out. I grip his wrist in an effort to stop him but my body is already reeling.
My frame shudders as my climax crashes into me. It climbs my spine, intensifying with each vertebrae. It takes my breath away and sweeps my every qualm under the rug.
My hand quivers as I cup his neck. My breath hitches as his face nears mine. He stops when his lips are mere centimeters away from mine. His breath whizzes over my lips and I sigh, relishing on the feeling. As I look into his eyes, I know the ball is in my court.
I told him I didn’t like kissing. I told him it was too intimate and now here we are. I think of the many disappointing kisses I’ve had. I think of how many have left me frowning and wiping excess saliva off of my mouth. I think about the way Laurent’s tongue navigated my pussy then I think about the silent rule I’ve had in place for years.
But I want to kiss him. In fact, I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more.
I’m happy that he actually listened to me the last time and has not attempted to wipe my lips off of my face with his. Yet, I’m sad that he placed the ball in my court. I don’t know what to do. Usually I don’t mind taking the lead but this instantly exactly my strong suit. Like he said, I know nothing about intimacy.
I throw caution to the wind when I lean forward, brushing my lips against his. A jolt of electricity instantly shoots up my spine, making me shudder.
“Embrasse moi,” This makes him smile.
I don’t know French but to appease Brittney and shut her the fuck up, I went out and bought the Dirty French book. Naturally she’d been peeved and grew even more agitated when I skipped straight to the sexual section. I didn’t need to know French but I did need to know how to ask a few important questions – where’s the bathroom, how much is this and do you wanna fuck?
My skin tingles when he presses his lips to mine. They’re warm and super silky. And instantly I decide that I never want him to stop kissing me. He takes his time peppering my lips with kisses, searing me with delight.
When his tongue strokes against the seam of my lips I’m overwhelmed by the pleasure. My gasp is hot and heady and allows his tongue to slide through the small space. His hands move down to my ass and in reaction I lock my legs around his waist, successfully pulling him closer.
His touch stimulates me, forcing me to cry out against his lips. Every part of me is sensitive and crying for him. And he knows it, he has to know it. I’m on the brink of begging but I force myself to chill. I force myself to drown in the pleasure because I know that he’s going to resuscitate me.
He groans, lifting me from the counter and within seconds we’re pacing down the hall towards the bedrooms. My eyes open in time to find him kicking the door of the room I’d marked as mine closed.
The room is stark white and we stand out – me with my cocoa skin and him with his all black. I want his clothes gone. I want to see him and feel him and taste him.
He sits me on the bed and as though he senses my thoughts he begins peeling his clothes away, layer by layer. I watch him unblinkingly, growing more aroused with every inch of skin that is exposed. He’d truly beautiful, a work of art.
When he is completely bare, I sigh my relief. I watch him eagerly as he climbs over my frame, clutching a gold foil between his teeth. His skin is hot and smooth. His heart is racing in his chest. His dick is hard and heavy as it brushes against my thigh. He is perfect.
I cloak my fears of a repeat of last time under a blanket of my optimism – and the fact that he’s already made me cum twice. I’m hoping what he said was true. I’m hoping our signals were merely crossed. I’m hoping he will forever change my view of Paris.
His tongue is at my clit then my nipples and my clit again. I’m cumming again and finally realizing that he’s a monster with an insatiable hunger for what I have to offer.
“I don’t think I’m alive.” I murmur against his lips and he smiles.
His hand snakes down between my thighs, finding my clit immediately. I arch and moan out, as I’m still sensitive from my orgasm just seconds ago. “You alive.” He confirms with a smile.
His smile is gone by the time he positioned himself at my entrance. Gone is playful Laurent. He’s serious now. He has a point to prove and a lesson to teach.
I hiss when he enters me. He’s big and leaves me feeling full. I watch his face, loving the way that his features relax only to tighten as he strokes.
“You feel so good.” He murmurs but I’m too breathless to reply.
My body is on fire. My thighs shake under the pressure of the bliss he is blessing me with. My lungs are attempting to fill but they’re failing. My heart is racing. All of me in in a frenzy and I can’t grasp it.
His strokes are slow and deliberate but they still knock my every breath out of me. He’s reaching areas that’s never been reached before, stroking walls that have been neglected for far too long.
I’m losing my mind. I’m relishing in the way he bites his lips each time he reenters me going deeper than before. I’m caught up in how his eyes roll and body ticks. My grip on his shoulders is firm as he paints a masterpiece on my neck with his tongue. His hips swivel and wave and circle as my body continues to tighten around him, gripping him until he slows down.
It’s when he slows down that his eyes seek mine out. They’re wide with pleasure and dark with mystery. “You like that?”
“Yes, Laurent, yessss.” I’m nodding and panting and shaking. I need him to know what he’s done, what he’s doing.
“You know how good you feel? How tight your pussy is… how wet?” His words cripple me. His accent devours me. “You feel so fucking good and you want me to rush?” He makes a sound that is caught somewhere between a scoff and a growl. I flat line. “I can never rush in this pussy.”
“Laurenttttt.” I’m delirious. My vocabulary has been ripped from me.
His fingers dip between us and he rubs my clit, sparking my body with energy it does not need. I scream and shrink back, the pleasure is too much. He may as well place a machete to my throat because his actions are bound to kill me anyway.
“You know how sweet your pussy taste?” I whimper. “Is so good. Like the sweetest fruit.” To prove this, he tucks his glazed finger into his mouth sucking greedily. When he is done he drops his lips onto mine, drugging me with his essence and my taste.
“I want you on top.” He murmurs, gripping hips. I open my mouth to protest. I’m too far gone to produce what he needs. “You tell me you ride my dick until I faint.” I flush as he repeats the heated words I’d pressed against his ear just last week. “Show me.”
Within seconds I’m hovering over him. I’m sliding down his length and moaning because he feels so good. He moans too and his eyes roll and his abs tighten. His reaction is all I need to power me. It’s like fuel to pleasure him and he’s given me more than enough.
My hands are spanned over his chest as I rock above him, rolling and bouncing. “Fuck.” He hisses, gripping my ass and squeezing. He’s unable to control himself and thrusts his hips upwards to meet my sweet heat. He’s going deep, to the hilt. He’s tattooing himself within my body. He’s claiming me and I love it.
He leans up, taking my harden nipple into his mouth. He sucks and bites as I ride him, tossing my head back. I’m weak but still I squeeze him, milking him for all he’s got.
“Nadiaaa.” He grits as my body swallows him. “Putain.”
I thank God and then Brittney for buying me kegels as a gag gift. And with a smug smirk, I grip him again. The pleasure is too much. He falls back into the plush recess of the bed, leaving my nipples wet and hard. I shudder as his eyes roll and hiss as his fingers dig into my flesh.
He surprises me when he grips my twists, pulling my face down to his. His lips are hot against mine and move with fervor. He’s still gripping me, grinding me over his dick. I think I’m in control but he’s proving that I’m merely a puppet under his guidance.
I don’t realize I’m cumming until my body completely stills and then cracks in half. I’m gripping him and cursing and quivering. And he’s holding me and guiding me through my demise. He hisses as I squeeze him and his lips meet mine, quieting my mewls.
“Laurent, I can’t.” I whimper when he has me on all fours. My body is tired. I don’t think it’s possible for me to cum again. I’m dripping everywhere and soaking through the expensive bedding but he doesn’t care.
“You want me to stop, baby?”
He’s behind me. His tongue is tracing down my spine and his fingers are massaging my pussy. My body stutters against his hand as he massages my clit and teases my opening.
“I think you so big and bad. That’s what you say in the cab.” He challenged. “But you can’t take it, no?”
I peer at him over my shoulder. He’s smirking because he knows exactly what he’s doing. Though he doesn’t know much about me, he knows I can never turn down a challenge just like he can’t.
I say nothing as I arch my back and spread my thighs. I watch as he relishes in the silent invitation, tilting his head and licking his lips. He adjusts himself at my entrance and thrusts forward nearly sending me through the wall.
“Fuccckkk.” I cry, clutching the pillows for dear life. His hips smack against my ass as I grind back, meeting his spine crutching thrusts.
“You like it like that my baby?” His fingers are tangled in my hair and his other hand is full of my ass. “You like it hard, deep?”
“Yes, god, yes.” My voice is a strangled cry. It tells the tale of my struggle, my battle with sanity.
From the moment I saw him I knew I wanted him to break my back in half and now he’s doing just that. His strokes are threatening to cripple me, his words are melting me. He’s nasty and rough and sweet and attentive at the same time. It’s a poisonous mix – one that makes me want to google journalism programs in Paris.
“You cum again?”
“How did you know?” I gasp, breathlessly as my body is wrapped in a warped mixture of bliss and pain. “Shit.”
“Your pussy squeeze me so good.” He breathes, squeezing my breasts. He pinches my nipples and licks a hot trail up my back. “So fucking good.”
“Fucking hell!” His fingers meet my clit with slow circles. He pulls me upward and falls back onto his haunches.
“Cum for me, Nadia.” He bites my neck. “Cum all over my dick.”
And I do just that. I drench him with all that he’s built up in me. I fall apart in his arms. I scream and cry and cream until I’m a shivering mess. And when I’m done, I feel him throbbing inside of me. I feel him expand and I feel his heat as it fills the condom.
He whispers my name and kisses my neck as we fall into a breathless heap on the white sheets.
“You’re a beast.”
“Is my name.” He shrugs, nuzzling my neck. And though I don’t know what to do with the information, I accept it.
Dia, the irony of our conversation last night…