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He glances at the clock, then down at his hard dick, then back into my eyes. “I have nowhere else to be.”
“Good,” I say, cupping his balls in one hand and jerking his dick with the other, “’cause I had no intentions of letting you leave. Now let me show you how it’s done.”
I inform him he is not to nut until I say he can. Instruct him to close his eyes and focus on his body, on the sensations. Tell him to let me know when he feels himself about to explode. I make him repeat back what I’ve said. When he does word for word, I take him back into my mouth and suck him, stopping him along the way, edging him.
“Uhhhh...uhhhh...ohhhh shit...”
“Relax,” I coax, slowing my hand strokes. “We have all night.” I get up, walk over to my bag and pull out another condom.
He catches his breath. “Damn, baby, you’re a beast in the sheets; fucking insatiable.”
I climb back in bed. “And I’m not leaving here unsatisfied.” I roll the condom onto his dick, then straddle him. I lean forward, place my right nipple up to his lips, then guide him inside me. “Now let me show you how I need to be fucked.”
Persia
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Hi, Daddy,” I say into the phone, smiling. “How are you, handsome?” Hearing his voice always puts a smile on my face. The one thing I love about him is the fact that no matter what he did in the streets, no matter how many times he fucked other women he never slighted me, or my sisters. And he never treated us any less special. All three of us were his “little beauties” as he called us. He still does to this day. I remember being a little girl and every Saturday he’d take us out to breakfast, leaving our mother home. He’d tell her that was his time with his girls. Then he’d take us shopping. And we’d get back to the house loaded down with shopping bags, filled mostly with toys and dolls we didn’t need or would play with only once because we had so many to begin with. That didn’t matter to him. Seeing smiles on our faces was all he cared about.
From school plays, track meets and dance recitals, he made it his business to be there to cheer us on when he wasn’t on the road. And when he and our mother drove my sisters and me down to D.C. the summer of our freshman year at Howard, he broke down and cried. His baby girls were growing up. I remember overhearing our mother one time on the phone, when I was like fifteen—telling one of my aunts how she felt like he cared more about us than he did her. “He treats them better than he does me,” she had said. “And I’m the one who’s supposed to be his wife!” I heard the resentment in her voice. Sometimes saw it in her eyes. Oh, well. That’s not my issue.
He chuckles. “I’m good, beautiful. How’s my baby girl doing?”
“I’m doing wonderful now that I’m talking to my favorite man in the whole world,” I tell him, picking up the crystal picture frame of him flanked by my sisters and me. I hold it in my hand, staring at it as we talk. My smile stays painted on my face. “Are you working today?” He tells me he is, but will be off all of next week and wants to take all of us to a show and dinner in the city. “Awww, Daddy, we would love that. Have you spoken to Paris and Porsha?”
“No. You’re the first one I called.”
I sit the picture frame back on my desk. “Okay, well, hold on and let me get Paris and Porsha on the line.”
“Okay, baby girl.” I place him on hold, then call Paris. She picks up on the fourth ring. I tell her I have Daddy on the line, then click over, bringing her in on the call.
“Hi, Daaaaddy,” she coos into the phone. “How you feeling today?”
“I’m fine, baby girl. How are you?”
“I’m great. You just made my morning.”
In my mind’s eye, I can see him smiling. “Aww, shucks. You girls sure know how to pull at ya old man’s heart strings.” She tells the both of us to hold on while she calls Porsha. A minute later the three of us are on the phone with him acting as if we haven’t spoken to him in weeks, when in fact it’s only been since yesterday. He tells them what he told me about taking us into the city.
Porsha and Paris excitedly say in unison, “I can’t wait.”
“Say when,” Porsha adds. “And we’re there.”
“Is Mom coming?” Paris asks.
“No, this is our night.” Good, I think, silently sighing. The last thing we need is her ruining the night with her bullshit. “I told your mother I had a date with three beautiful young women.” I smile. Ask what she said when he told her that. “She said, ‘Well, have fun.’”
“Wow, I’m surprised she didn’t start fussing about wanting to go,” Paris states, knowing how much she likes going into the city. And, sadly, how much she loathes him having time alone with us.
“Well, she’s gonna be in Vegas,” he informs us.
“Vegas?” the three of us ask, surprised.
&n
bsp; “Yeah, your Aunt Fanny has a timeshare out there, so they’re all going out there for a week.”
“She didn’t mention anything about going away when I met her for lunch a few weeks ago,” Paris says. “And I’ve spoken to her on the phone regularly since then.”
