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“You like that?” he asks in between licks.
“Oh yessss…” His long tongue pushes its way deep inside of me, chin deep, it finds refuge in my slick cunt. He grunts and groans, lifting my hips up off the desk. “Yeah, like that,” I coax, helping him find his way back to paradise.
Porsha
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Don’t forget Damon is coming through this Friday for another tune-up,” Persia says, grinning as she flits about the kitchen, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. “He should be here around eight or so.” She rinses her breakfast plate and silverware, then drinks the remainder of her hazelnut coffee before rinsing out her cup and sticking it in the dishwasher along with the rest of her dishes. I watch as she maneuvers around the kitchen, wiping the counters, then the table. She’s so busy rattling on that she hasn’t noticed that I haven’t said a word. “Oooh, I can’t wait to ride that nigga’s back. My pussy juices at the thought.”
I grunt, finally acknowledging that I’ve heard what she’s said. “Mmmph, I forgot about him wanting to get that ass of his tore out the frame.”
She chuckles. “Girl, be nice. All you need to do is worry about being the good little dick sucker you are.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m being nice, boo.” And I’m gonna give him a nice, slow, wet dick suck, too. Ugh. I’m such a damn contradiction when it comes to Damon. On one hand, I’m repulsed by the thought of him taking it in the ass. But, then on the other hand, I’m turned on by the thought of sucking his dick. He is so damn masculine. So damn hood. Between you and me, his cock cream does seem so much thicker when his ass is being stuffed. But, after all the shit I’ve talked, Persia will never hear that from me. “Don’t worry. You know sucking a dick has never been a problem for me.”
“Well…”
“Whose dick you getting ready to suck?” Paris asks, walking into the room. Her silk robe is open, revealing
the pink teddy she’s wearing.
I laugh. “It figures that would be the only part of the conversation you heard.”
She gives me the finger.
“We’re talking about Damon,” Persia informs her. “He’ll be here Friday. And Porsha was just saying how she can’t wait to suck the nut outta his dick.”
I laugh.
“Oooh goodie,” Paris says sarcastically, clapping. “I get to see Porsha do what she does best while he gets fucked by you. What a treat.”
“Whatever, smart-ass,” Persia says, grabbing her car keys. “Make sure you’re home, too. We wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” Paris asks her where she’s off to so early. She tells her she’s flying out to Atlanta to meet with a potential client who’s interested in having her design their company’s website, and meet their marketing needs. “It’s a new research development company. I’m hoping to seal the deal before I get back tonight.”
“Good luck,” Paris and I say in unison.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, before I forget,” Paris says, taking a plate out of the cabinet, then scooping eggs out of the pan on the stove onto her plate. “I need one of you to cover the boutique tomorrow for me. Mom has invited me to drive out to the Dutch Country with her.” She pulls out two slices of multigrain bread, then drops them into the toaster. She tells us how, since that incident at the diner, Mom has been really trying. “When we drove out to the outlets last month, she, of all people, apologized, which both of you know is no easy feat for her.”
I glimpse over at Persia and see her rolling her eyes up in her head.
I chuckle. “So basically what you’re saying is, once again, she’s manipulated you. Made you feel guilty for your despicable outburst toward her. ’Cause you know she’ll never let you live it down.”
She huffs indignantly, placing a hand up on her hip. “She hasn’t manipulated me into doing anything. What makes you say that?”
“Umm, let’s see. You call her to apologize, and she turns around and invites you to spend the day shopping with her, and you were the one driving her. Now, she’s inviting you out to the Dutch Country—to drive again. Hmmm…sounds like manipulation to me. She knows how you are.”
Paris tilts her head, placing a hand up on her hip. “And what is that supposed to mean, ‘she knows how you are’? Explain that to me.”
“She knows you won’t say no to her. It’s not in your blood; especially since she knows how badly you want to have a better relationship with her.”
Paris twists her face up. “And what’s so wrong with that? I’d think you’d want to have a better relationship with her, too.”
“I do,” I admit.
Persia grunts, interjecting. “I find it interesting that she’ll apologize to you for shit she says, but not once has she opened her mouth to apologize to me or to Porsha, for that matter, for anything offensive that has come out of her mouth to us. And she had ample opportunity the day we were all at brunch to do so. She didn’t even call to see if Porsha or I wanted to drive out to Pennsylvania with her. No, she asked you.”
“Oh, please. You’re purposefully antagonistic toward her,” Paris defends. “You like getting into confrontations with her. Look at how you make it your business to smear what we do in her face every chance you get. And she didn’t ask either of you if you wanted to go because she knows both of you would’ve said no.”
