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But he was also a pain-in-the-ass too, but he was hers.
And, no, he wasn’t perfect, but he’d always been perfect enough for her, even with his wandering eye and bouncing dick and whore-mongering ways. He was still the only man for her.
Brenda licked over her lips. She found herself thinking about Roselle’s dick. Beauty—yes, God. It wasn’t enormous, but it was nowhere near small—it was exceptionally way above average. It was heavenly bliss. It was eight-plus inches of thick, golden-brown goodness that stroked into her core and reminded her of why she’d stolen Roselle from her ex-best friend in the first place.
Did she have any regrets?
Hell no. She’d had her eyes on him, first, that night at Club Scandal. But Trinity had gotten to him first. Given him her number. Fucked him. Then cuffed him.
And then instead of keeping her mouth shut, all Trinity did was brag about how fine he was, how freaky he was. About how good the dick was, how Roselle had made her toes curl every time he licked over her clit with his long tongue.
Yes, Brenda had hated—a little at first. But then she’d seen the way he’d look at her any time she came around with heat and hunger in his eyes. And, yes, she’d wanted some of him. She’d been bold enough to tell him so. And bold enough to suck his dick and swallow his babies, while he fingered her pussy, outside of Trinity’s apartment complex.
Weeks later, they were fucking on the low. She’d become his sidepiece. And, okay, so she’d thought that that would be enough. And for a while, it had been.
But, after a year of having his raw dick coating the inside of her walls, Brenda had been determined to have him for herself. So she waited, schemed, and kept him satiated with stress-free sex.
Oh yes, Brenda had been a scandalous bitch, smiling in her good friend’s face, while fucking her man. Everything Trinity wasn’t willing to do, with him and to him, Brenda had been more than willing to step in and indulge him.
The dick had been too good not to.
And though she’d prayed for it, she never pressured him into leaving Trinity. He’d done it on his own, in his own time. He’d left Trinity for her. And then he’d put a ring on it.
Two kids and eleven years later, and Roselle was still coming home to her.
So, no—fuck no—there were no regrets. Trinity had never been a real friend, any-damn-way. Besides, that lame-ass bitch hadn’t deserved him. She didn’t know how to handle a man like Roselle. And she damn sure didn’t deserve to birth his curly-haired babies. No. Brenda had deserved him. But wait for it. She knew she deserved everything else that came along with having him.
And she was fine with that. Most times.
Brenda knew she was a whore. A whore who rode her man, any time, any place. Bitches had better get on board or have her man snatched up by the next freak lying in wait, like she’d been.
H.E.R’s “Facts” played and Brenda rocked her shoulders. She pursed her cherry-glossed lips. Call her dick-dumb. Call her crazy. She didn’t give a goddamn. But a bitch would never call her sexually repressed, or lonely.
She slowly sipped through her straw, allowing the concoction’s sweet heat to wet her tongue and pool through her veins. One more and she was for certain she’d be tumbling off the barstool. Yes. She was feeling herself. Thick in all the right places, she was a bad bitch—and she knew it.
And she felt like being naughty. She thought to guzzle her drink, then head back to her villa in hopes to find Roselle naked. In her mind’s eyes, she saw herself dropping to her knees, nuzzling his groin and feeling his dick, wrapping a hand around the thick base of his growing erection, before licking the crown of his dick and drawing him deep into her hungry, wet mouth.
Yes. That was what she’d do, she decided, sucking down the rest of her drink through her straw. She slid off her stool and, somehow, managed to stand on wobbly legs. She ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair, tucking the strands behind her ears and then shouldered her purse.
“Leaving already?” said a voice so richly baritone that Brenda nearly swooned. Or was that from the effects of the liquor? Brenda’s skin prickled with nerves as she turned and found herself looking up into the face of Sin. Lord, she didn’t remember him being this fine when she’d first seen him on the plane—or when he’d slyly winked at her on the beach. But—damn him—up close and personal, his body mere inches from hers, towering over her, he was a massive ball of sexual energy.
For a moment, Brenda simply stared up at him, trying to swallow down the air that had caught in the back of her throat. And then Sin slid his muscled body onto the stool next to her and grinned.
“I hoped I’d see you again,” he said simply, sounding cool and confident, like a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to take it.
One of Brenda’s eyebrows lifted, and she cocked her head to the side. “Is that so?” she said softly.
“No doubt, baby.”
Baby. The word slipped from his lips and slid over her like warm honey—thick and sweet. When the bartender stopped in front of him, he ordered a double-shot of Remy. And then he looked at her. “She’ll have another of whatever she’s been drinking.”
“Oh, no—please, no,” Brenda quickly said. “I can’t—I shouldn’t.”
Sin’s lips curved up into a devilish grin. “But you will. If you want to.”
“No. I have to get going.”
Sin took her in. “One drink, baby. Live a little. A little sin . . .” He paused. And then he scanned her body with his eyes, slowly, seductively, licking over those beautiful chocolate-brown lips, “every now and then, never hurt anyone.”
