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Nairobia sucked with more vigor, momentarily draining him of his pain. She sucked him until he went soft in her mouth, then eased up to meet his hazy gaze and covered his mouth with hers, until their tongues swam and mingled in the heat of his sweet milk.
NINE
Three days later, a crowd of paparazzi was on the ready along the velvet rope outside an extravagant club in Las Vegas. A private party was being hosted in Nairobia’s honor for the launch of her new fragrance Sweet Desires.
Hair in a messy updo, the fashionably late beauty hit the red carpet—which was awash with models, actors, and reality TV stars—causing a frenzy of flashbulbs to pop, pop, pop as she stepped out of her limo wearing what looked like a strip of gauze around her breasts and hips with a pair of pencil-thin heels. Perfection at its best, she was a paparazzo’s dream.
Her hips led the way as she gracefully sauntered up the red carpet, strategically stopping every so often—hand on hip, blowing a kiss, or looking over her shoulder to pose for a zealous photographer or two. She’d thought to bring a date, but then—at the last moment—decided she didn’t need to be on the arm of any eye candy tonight.
Josiah could simply wait in her suite for her return.
“Nairobia! Nairobia! Over here, darling!”
“Oh, Nairobia, dahling! You look simply delicious! Love your outfit!”
“Nairobia! Over here! Congrats on the release of your new fragrance! Love the samples!”
Wearing a naughty smile, Nairobia struck a suggestive pose.
More cameras clicked.
All the paparazzi were shouting for her, wanting her to turn in their direction, hoping she’d give the gossip hounds something lewd and dirty to salivate over.
She simply waved for the cameras.
“How does it feel to be immortalized?” one of the paps yapped, speaking of the life-like wax figure dozens or so celebrity friends watched Nairobia unveil of herself not less than twenty-four hours ago in Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum at the Venetian Resort, making her the second personality from the adult entertainment world to be enshrined in wax. Jenna Jameson having been the first.
It’d been an auspicious occasion, for sure. And Nairobia was still floating on clouds of joy to be esteemed in such a way. Her attraction would be displayed next to Jenna Jameson’s—the porn industry’s international superstar—and Playboy Publishing founder Hugh Hefner’s wax figures.
She was deeply honored. The gesture was humbling, to say the least.
But tonight was Nairobia’s launch party for her new fragrance Sweet Pleasure and she didn’t want anything overshadowing that. Not even talk of her fabulous life-sized wax figure.
“It feels heavenly, my love,” Nairobia cooed, gliding down the red carpet as though it were a runway.
Once inside the club, music vibrated the walls and a cascade of flashing lights nearly blinded Nairobia as she sashayed her way through a throng of partygoers and ardent admirers. Drinks flowed in abundance. The club was packed to capacity with women wearing shimmering miniscule dresses and men blessed with bodies that appeared straight off the cover of Men’s Health and GQ, while scantily clad models walked around with bottles of Nairobia’s sexy and sensual perfume—packed with floral notes, vanilla and jasmine petals—on shiny silver trays, along with the night’s specialty drink, Sweet Pleasure.
It was a beautiful sight to behold.
Nairobia plucked a drink off the tray of a passing cocktail waitress, wearing a G-string and glittery pasties. She took a slow sip and winded her hips to a Drake song. She smiled at the cages that hung from the ceiling with body-painted dancers. The scene reminded her of her own club. The bass thumped and the dancing crowd gyrated in time with the frenetic beat of the music.
Red lights splashed over the crowd, and the giant tiles of the dance floor were lit from beneath. Ice sculptures sat on pedestals around the room. But in the center of the club’s dance floor was a larger-than-life ice sculpture of a naked Nairobia holding a bottle of her perfume.
On the second level, a gigantic penis adorned with two humongous balls carved out of dark chocolate erupted in the center of the VIP section, spilling rivulets of mouthwatering milk chocolate lava from its dickhead. Nairobia licked her lips at the sight, imagining herself undressing and sliding her body down into the basin of warm chocolate. She decided she wanted one for The Pleasure Zone.
Every second person who sauntered past her, stopped for either hugs and air-kisses—and the occasional, “Let’s do lunch,” or simply to congratulate her, or to take photos with the statuesque diva. Graciously, she smiled and posed for the cameras.
Eventually, Nairobia hit the dance floor and allowed the music to take over. She shimmied and gyrated her pelvis, teasing the crowd, even dancing provocatively with a few admirers—bumping and grinding into them, feeling their cocks grow painfully hard. Men took turns cutting in, trying to get their thrills for the night, and Nairobia welcomed their roaming hands and warm kisses—on her cheek, of course. Then she graciously moved on to the next.
Across the room she spotted a deliciously dark man standing there, amusement sparkling in his eyes, watching her. His masculine face illuminated every time the lights flashed, and Nairobia noticed how breathtaking he was.
He licked his lips. Nairobia wasn’t sure if the sensual gesture was directed at her or not, but she battered her thick lashes over her hypnotizing gray eyes and gave him a mischievous smile—anyway, before slowly pivoting on her “fuck-me” heels, giving him her ass to stare at.
Two hours into the festivities—after all the kisses and good wishes, Nairobia stood by the chocolate penis sliding a finger into the basin, then sucking her chocolate-coated finger into her mouth. Her nipples peaked. She felt eyes on her, so she knelt and licked on one of the gigantic balls, giving onlookers something to fantasize about, before sinking her teeth in and biting out a chunk of chocolate.
Cameras flashed at the erotic sight.
Seconds later, Kelly Rowland’s “Motivation” started playing. Nairobia stood and noticed the same man from across the room walking through the crowd toward her, carrying a magnum of Dom Pérignon in his hand. He was the color of rich, black silt. Donned in all white, around his thick neck hung a diamond cross on a th
