Page 36 of Gang of Roses: Dice

“Yessss. Oh, oh, uuuu.”

I hope that was good enough and didn’t come across as too phony, but I was trying. I looked down between my legs at the slick-wave brother putting in overtime. His waves were laid so damn pretty they almost distracted me from the fact this man thought he was putting up Wilt Chamberlain numbers.

“Ouu... ouu... right there,” I moaned, giving him my best performance.

Baby, let me tell you, if the streets ever got slow, Hollywood was definitely my next stop.

The things I really wanted to say would've had this nigga scheduling a therapy appointment before breakfast. This here was flat-out pathetic. I had better head in college.

“Squirt for me, babe,” he groaned, doing some sort of flicking that was so uncoordinated it had me rolling my eyes.

Squirt?

Nigga, I'm a creamer. Big difference.

“It... it's about to come,” I lied, adding a little shake to my voice for dramatic effect. I hated when a man didn’t take the time to learn a woman’s body. Just using and saying the same shit in every hole they called wet.

Lord, forgive me.

I silently debated whether I should just pee and let this fool think he'd unlocked some hidden level of my womanhood. Hell, he probably would've called his homeboys before I made it to the parking lot.

This poor thing.

The only thing Greg was unlocking was access to my Academy Award-winning speech.

See, the handsome negro between my thighs was Greg. Ugly-ass name for a fine-ass man.

Greg worked for City Armor, and unbeknownst to him, he was a piece of a plan he'd never collect a dime from. While Coca and Revv were tucked away in the mountains, away from all the chaos, I'd spent the last two months entertaining ol' Greggy here. Every FaceTime, every fake laugh, every “Good morning” text had one purpose…That armored truck route.

A route he guarded like he had the president in the back. I mean, I guess he did, only they were all dead, but unfortunately for him, fat mama had patience and power. However, I was tired of coming out here to fake this whole I'm trying to get to know you better bullshit. I didn’t mind a few wild nights, but this here…was too much. Two months of waiting for this?… I wanted a refund.

Now, don't get it twisted. Greg had only made it to second base because I allowed it. Kissing him? Absolutely the fuck not. A kiss meant you liked somebody... or at least tolerated 'em. Greg couldn't even get that.

“Damn, babe,” he huffed proudly.

“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed, giving him another fake little shiver.

If this man don’t hurry to complete this race with his awkward tongue acrobatics, I was gonna Donkey Kong his ass in the head. Maybe it would activate some sort of rogue waves.

This was truly a waste. Good Lord...Just clock out, Greg.

I did one more shimmy, hoping it would work. I was going to need an ice pack for the raw licking in just a minute. I felt like calling the girls and telling them we needed another heist because this plan wasn’t going to work.

“Ouu babe, ouuuuuu,” I moaned and groaned at the same damn time. That did the trick, and Greg got his tall ass off his knees. I don’t know who taught this man, but this wasn’t it.

“Wheww, girl, you wet me up,” he said while wiping his drenched mustache.

“She’s a soaker, boo,” I said with a wink. That was true. I was gonna get wet off his appearance alone, but most of that fluid was Greg and his damn saliva.

“I love that clit piercing. Did it hurt?”

“Nah. I like a little pain.”

“Damn. When you gonna let big daddy get in that thing?” I just stared at Greg’s handsome face and looked down at his little pitchfork that was doing something…I guess… in those boxers.

“Looks like you got yours,” I said, nodding toward the big wet spot spreading across the front of his boxers.

I swear on my mama, if I wasn't turned off before, I was damn sure flatlined now.