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“Okay, then. Tomorrow night?”
“Sorry, my darling. My calendar doesn’t permit for deep fucking tomorrow night, either. I’ll call you when it does,” she said firmly.
No wasn’t a word Marcel embraced. So maybe was promising. But it still wasn’t good enough. He was a man who got what he wanted, when he wanted it. And he wanted Nairobia. He wasn’t an obsessive man—but, for some reason, he found himself fixating over her. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman, since his college days back at Howard University. The day he’d laid eyes on Marika.
Marika had been his soulmate, his everything. But when she was murdered, every part of his soul had died along with her. He felt empty. Dead inside.
But his night—and morning—with Nairobia had stirred, no awakened, something inside of him. Hell. That was a lie. Something shifted in him that morning in his Rolls when he’d exposed himself emotionally and Nairobia had slipped between his legs and sucked his dick. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But it was there. He’d felt it when they kissed several nights ago. And he’d felt it, this sur
ge of electricity, even stronger the second he slid his dick in her. It wasn’t love. Yet, it was deeper than lust.
Nairobia was bold and wild and full of passion. He wanted another round with her. Wanted to suck her toes. Tongue her ass. And taste every delicious inch of her. All day, he’d sat in his office, at his desk, distracted, his dick brick-hard.
The source of his preoccupation: Her.
Her body.
Her lips.
Her touch.
Her mouth.
Her cunt.
Goddamn. That sweet pussy was divine.
And he wanted more.
Nairobia glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist. It was nearly three o’clock. She motioned for her driver to speed it up. Her first interview was in another half hour and she dared not be late. She prided herself on being prompt for business. She wasn’t a believer of making someone wait…not in business.
Pleasure was a whole other story.
Sometimes it had to simmer. Slowly build up.
“Where are you?” Marcel asked, his voice dipping dangerously low.
“En route to the club. Why?”
“Swing by my office so I can suck the walls out that juicy pussy.”
“No,” she said firmly.
“Nairobia,” he murmured. She closed her eyes as he purred out her name in a way that made her cunt clench. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”
“Beg, my love. I love a man who grovels,” she teased.
“I wanna coat your walls with my nut, baby, then lick that beautiful pussy and all between your thighs clean.” Marcel loved creampies. He enjoyed the taste of himself inside of a woman. And he wanted nothing more than to clean Nairobia’s pussy out with his tongue, licking out her juices along with his own warm semen.
Instant arousal swept through Nairobia. She loved a man who loved cunnilingus. There was something so incredibly erotic, insanely provocative, about watching a man, licking, feasting, sucking, sliding his tongue inside her pussy and all over her plump, juicy folds and distended clit.
And Nairobia loved even more seeing her juices glistening a man’s lips and his chin, and him licking his tongue over his lips, removing the traces of her slick release. Oh how she loved coming in a man’s horny mouth, drenching him with her sweet cream.
But this freaky business of Marcel wanting to flood her cunt with his nut, then lick it out of her had her clenching. Damn him.
A wave of desire washed over Nairobia. She sucked in a huge, steady breath, but Marcel’s heated, evocative words had already licked at her cunt and made her clit twitch with an urgent need.
Oh he was greedy. Insatiable. And Nairobia was tempted.
