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His dick pulsed. Again.
He clenched his fists, and groaned inwardly.
Fat, fucking chance!
Nairobia’s lips curled into a smile as she stared out into the night. Yes. If indeed she had her way, she’d have him in her bed, melting her cunt all over him.
And if not…
She had a chest full of sex toys, and a wicked imagination.
FIFTEEN
“Yo, what’s good, Los Annnnngeles!” Carlos screamed out into the crowd an hour-and-a-half into his set, shirt unbuttoned and pulled open. An array of multicolored panties scattered at his feet. “Y’all having a good time tonight?”
“Yes!” the crowd shouted.
The twenty-thousand-seat Staples Center was filled to capacity, and the R&B crooner had the crowd melting in their seats, ready to get home and tear it up in the sheets after he and his sexy label mate, Laila Reynolds, had just delivered a seductive, heart-stopping, loin-tingling duet together from off his latest album, P.O.P., which stood for Pussy over Pennies. The sexual energy in the air was so thick you could slice it with a knife. There were lots of hard, horny dick and horny, wet pussies in the building tonight down to fuck, and Carlos knew—without a doubt—somebody was getting pregnant tonight.
He was a mixture of Prince, Maxwell, and Eric Benet all rolled into one sensually, seductive man.
“Cool, cool. Ladies, y’all ready for me to slow it down and get real nasty with it?” He held up his microphone to the crowd.
“Yes!” they screamed.
“Y’all ready to get wet tonight?”
More screams. “Yesssssss!”
More panties soared in the air and fluttered to the stage.
“I stay wet!” someone from the audience screamed.
“Yeah, baby,” Carlos moaned. “I like it wet.”
“We love you, Carrrrrlos!” a few groupies in seats a few rows back of Nairobia yelled out. They were clearly inebriated. And, more than likely, had won their tickets and backstage passes to the show from the many contests the radio station 93.3 had had leading up to tonight’s event.
Carlos flashed a smile. “Awww, damn. I love you, too, baby. Now who’s ready for me to…” The sultry intro, with the naughty beat, to his smash single, “Lick Her Slow”—from his first album, Dirty lil Secrets—started playing. Carlos licked his lips. “Yeah, I know y’all know what that is.” He pulled out a big, juicy peach and bit into it. Juices splashed out and dripped down his chin. He licked around his lips, then stuck his tongue out and slowly licked around the peach, before taking another bite.
The crowd went wild.
Bulbs flashed from everywhere.
He slowly chewed, savoring the fruit’s juices, then said, “How many of you beauties out there are real juicy?”
Hands flew up in the air. Scantily clad women shot up from their seats, professing to be the juiciest of them all. Lies! Nairobia chuckled to herself. Most of them were delusional. She looked over to the right of her and spotted the female rapper Lil’ Kim—three seats down from her, waving her hand in the air, too.
Nairobia frowned. Maybe once upon a time, but now…
Nairobia rolled her eyes, shifting her gaze back to the stage. Carlos bent over and picked up a pair of purple panties off the stage floor to wipe the sweat from his chest. The panties were huge. But he wasn’t the one to put any of his fans on blast, so he took it in stride. He waved them in the air and the crowd laughed. Then he looked inside for any stains. Certain they were clean, he wiped the sweat from his face with them, then tucked them in his back pocket. “Yo, big girls can get the tongue too,” he teased. Then sang, “Close ya eyes, baaaby…let me in between ya thighs…hot tongue…licking all over you…”
He held the mic out to the crowd as they sang out the rest of the chorus, “Tasting all over you…loving all over you…licking it nice ‘n’ slow…”
Carlos brought the microphone back up to his lips and sang out, “Let me bury my head between ya legs…and get lost in paradise…licking you up ‘n’ down…”
He stared out into the crowd as if he were looking for someone in particular, still singing, flicking his tongue in and out every so often; driving his female fans wild.
More panties flew in the air. He caught a pink thong mid-air, sniffing it, before sliding the flimsy undergarment over his head. As much as he adored his female fans, some were nasty as fuck, half-washing their asses, or smelling like fish juice. And a few in the past had been nasty enough to toss a pair of filthy, shit-stained drawers up on the stage at him.
