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“Then let me hit it.”
“Hit it?” I pushed him away. “Um, no. But I’ll tell you what. Since you’re topless, I can rock with that.” I pulled off my sports bra, revealing my tatas.
“You’re so lovely. You could at least let me suck them.”
I contemplated actually letting Antonio suck my tits as “Adorn” came on and Miguel started singing about how his lips couldn’t wait to taste some chick’s skin. So apropos for the moment.
“You hear that?” Antonio picked up on the song lyrics fitting the moment as well. He moved closer to me and licked his lips as he started rubbing my right nipple with two fingers. “Let my love adorn you, baby.”
I took a deep breath and threw my head back as the magic in his fingertips got to me.
You’re almost forty, Caprice, I told myself. You’ve got to learn to let go.
Antonio picked me up by the hips with his other muscular arm and carried me to the bed as he started licking my other breast with the tip of his tongue.
“Aw, shit,” I heard myself say as he laid me down.
He took my breast deep into his mouth and I could feel Thumper start pulsating in my shorts.
“Ummm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered as he came up briefly for air and moved his mouth over to my other breast.
I stared up at the ceiling, taking all the sensations in. I had played with my tits throughout my life, often masturbating with a toy, or even a towel between my legs if I was without a toy on tour, until I climaxed. But one of the major problems was that I never thought about what would be considered “traditional sex” when I masturbated. There were always at least two men involved, even if one of them was watching and waiting for his turn. I wondered if it was because the only time that I had ever actually been penetrated was under such circumstances. The men in my fantasies weren’t violent or raping me or anything like that, though. There was just always at least two, or more. It concerned me that I might not have been able to be content with a sexual encounter with one man, if I ever took it that far. I planned to open up to Dr. Spencer about that, if I could.
Antonio did suck the hell out of my tits that day, and suck some damn tits he did. He tried to get my panties off so he could eat my pussy—damn near begged me to feed him—but I couldn’t bring myself to allow it. So we ended up jacking off together and never got to the tantric yoga. I had to get back into the studio and work on “Manpooling.”
Chapter Nine
The ride out to Marcella’s cabin was relaxing, the views breathtaking. None of my bodyguards asked me any heavy questions—they knew better—and Nikki was in Miami handling some business for me. I was looking to open a restaurant there and she was doing some location scouting, gathering some lease proposals, and interviewing some chefs. I planned to come up with the names of the menu items myself, all named after my song titles, and I wanted to call it Wicket’s Thicket and have it surrounded by dense landscaping. That way people would feel like they were far away from the beach, and the shade of the bushes and trees would mask the intense Miami heat while they were dining.
Daddy had called to Skype that morning and I assured him that I was fine. He was pleased to discover that I was on my way to a second session with the psychiatrist he suggested. I understood his concern, but it was time for me to deal with my past. Avoiding Atlanta forever made no sense, and while actually residing there for the time being was a bit drastic, I still had my plans for Bianca and Cherie. There was no way that they were getting away with what they did—them or their men.
Jonovan had crossed my mind quite often. I had even searched his address on Google Earth and checked out his small, brick rancher and surrounding neighborhood. He had only moved roughly ten miles from where we attended high school together at Powers. I had yet to go past my old school. The memories would have been too painful. Plus, it would have been too hard for me to explain that visit to KAD. Sneaking out to the boonies to visit someone in a cabin was one thing, but driving past a high school that I supposedly had no connection with would have been a red flag.
I had actually told KAD the truth about Dr. Spencer—to a point. I told them that I was seeking therapy for my issues and they certainly knew that I had them. They didn’t know the extent of them but, clearly, the way that I toyed with them sexually, coupled with the fact that they never saw me bring any men into my bedroom or hotel rooms, were signs that I was not normal when it came to intimacy.
They also knew about my adoption, and I had made up different variations of the Jonestown story with each of them over the years. It was really more about laying the groundwork for people to back up the story if it ever surfaced. It always helped to have people who could say that they had known blah, blah, blah for years.
“We’re almost there,” Antonio said. He was still feeling some kind of way about getting to second base with me and getting shut down. “Five minutes.”
“Cool,” I replied as I played Little Shop of Treasures 2 on my iPad. “I’m almost on week eight.”
It’s amazing how people can come up with the stupidest, brain cell–wasting games and apps and millions of people become addicted to them. I had beat the app dozens of times, but I still did it to kill time and to take my mind off things. In this case, I was trying to mentally prepare myself to come clean with Marcella about more details from my life—not the fabricated ones. The real ones.
Exactly five minutes later, we pulled up to an oak cabin that was definitely hidden away in the woods. It was “adorable,” for lack of a better term. Like something out of a Disney movie. Flower beds out front held various perennials and there was a flagpole with a decorated floral flag to match what lay below. There was a two-seater Mercedes convertible parked out front, black on black, and Marcella was sitting on the wraparound porch drinking lemonade out of a mason jar. She had on jeans and a button-down, pin-striped shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had on sneakers.
I felt completely overdressed in an Alexandre Vauthier gold minidress and a pair of Manolo Blahnik lace-up, high-heeled sandals. I saw her grin as I was guided out of the truck by Kagiso. He had complimented me earlier on my outfit.
“Looks like she thought this was a casual meeting,” he remarked in a whisper.
“It is,” I replied. “But you know I always like to have my shit on point. Never know when some cameras might be snapping.”
He surveyed the area. “Doubt that’ll be happening out here.”
“And that’s the point,” I said. “But we still had to get here and we have to go back. Besides, I’m thinking about making a pit stop on the way home. Call Nikki and see if that Bianca broad is still hosting a party this evening at 444 Highland.”
“That Bianca broad?” Kagiso laughed. “Why do you even hang around her if you can’t stand her?”
“It’s not that I can’t stand her,” I fabricated. “I actually like some of her suggestions and want to see what kind of references she might have. She’s talented but seems to have a bit of an attitude.”
