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“Wait,” LaQuandra said, giving her a baffled look. “You go both ways?”
“Girl, I go whatever way my mood is.” Brenda glanced back over toward the bar and spotted Roselle grinning in the face of a tall woman wearing a red, bullet-cone bra corset with a matching thong. She shook her head. “Anyway, look on the bright side,” Brenda continued. “At least your husband isn’t eyeing another man. Now that might cause a problem.” She tooted her lips as she fingered the triple strand of Tahitian pearls dangling from her neck. “Well, not unless you’re into that kind of stuff.” She eyed LaQuandra, waiting for her reaction. Personally, Brenda loved bisexual men. In fact, one of her exes, Franklin, was bisexual. And he had been upfront with her about his sexuality, which Brenda had found refreshing and oh so very sexy. Franklin had oozed masculinity and sexuality, and he fucked real good. She also had him to thank for turning her on to the world of bisexuality.
Of course, she was more open-minded than most women, and a whole lot more daring sexually than many, especially black women, she believed. They were simply too uptight about sex and sexuality, unlike her Latina sisters, and—of course, the Beckys of the world.
LaQuandra frowned. “Hell no. I’m not down with that nasty shit. Bisexual and down-low niggas can’t do shit for me; except for show me where the straight men are.”
“I heard you on that,” was all Brenda said over a laugh.
LaQuandra sighed, and then she scanned the bar area. Perhaps she’d overreacted, she mused. Brenda was right. What was the harm in Isaiah looking at that little perky-tit bitch? As long as he was nowhere near Cassandra’s ass, there shouldn’t be any pause for concern.
No other woman, besides that bitch, was the problem.
Brenda glanced down at her Gucci timepiece. “Ooh, the show is about to start,” she said to LaQuandra. “Let me go grab Roselle, so we can get our seats.”
“Oh, okay,” LaQuandra said. “If you see my husband over there, tell him I’ll be inside.”
* * *
“I’m sorry,” LaQuandra said, low enough for only Isaiah to hear the moment he took his seat beside her. He had two drinks in his hand. He’d already tossed back a shot of Cuevos, while at the bar, with Roselle. These two drinks would do him right.
Isaiah gave her a look. He was sick of her shit. And he was really starting to get sick of looking at her. He took a long gulp from one of the drinks.
“You’re sorry for what, Quandra?”
“For carrying on out in the lobby like that. It was stupid of me.”
“You can’t help yourself,” he said. She acted like a stupid bitch sometimes.
LaQuandra gave him a look, and he stared back. He was really trying to bite back his temper. He wanted to light into her, but this was neither the time nor the place to check her ass. So he finished off his first drink in another large gulp.
“I don’t wanna fight tonight, Isaiah,” she stated. “Truce? Please.”
“Yeah, a’ight. Whatever you say, Quandra.”
She eyed the tumbler resting in the cup holder and then asked, “Is that drink for me?” She reached over for the glass and Isaiah grabbed her hand.
“You don’t need a drink,” he said sternly. “Ya ass don’t know how to act.” And then he lifted the glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and drained it.
Isaiah was certain that if he was going to get through the rest of the night, then he needed to be fucked up, or damned near close to it.
Before LaQuandra could open her mouth to say something slick, of course, a very feminine, very seductive voice floated out through the speakers, quickly quieting the theater.
“Good evening, my beautiful people. Welcome to The Aquarium. Filled with raw sensuality, tonight’s show will tantalize and entice you. It will be an experience . . .”
LaQuandra looked around the amphitheater-type setting, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why it had been called an aquarium when there wasn’t a tank or any amphibian life in sight.
The oval room reminded LaQuandra of a Roman coliseum without the concrete and sand.
There was stadium-style seating. And in the center of the amphitheater was an enormous circular stage that was surrounded by a thick velvet curtain, the same black curtain that covered the length of the walls around them.
The way the space was quickly filling—many of the exotic-looking, scantily dressed women were on the arm of casually dressed men, while others had come alone or with other women, who wore nearly nothing—something was definitely about to go down. And, whatever it was, LaQuandra Lewis was excited, almost too excited (to the point that her pussy tingled) to have a front-row seat.
She sighed. She was so tired of wondering, tired of fantasizing, tired of wanting and fighting and being denied.
She needed a hard dick. She needed a man with large hands and long fingers to smack her on the ass and finger her cunt. But she wouldn’t cheat. No matter how many times she’d considered it. Cheating was out.
Suddenly, LaQuandra dragged in a frustrated breath, aware that Isaiah was looking over at her. Deep-set eyes glowering at her.
