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He was disgusted with himself for being weak, for fucking her. But more overpowering than that was his embarrassment. He wasn’t a minuteman, but in a matter of a hundred-and-fifty-strokes or so, she’d managed to reduce him to one.
What the fuck?
All that fine ass and he couldn’t deliver the pounding he’d threatened her with. He’d had her up against the wall, pinned up like a real live pinup poster, fucking into her tight, wet heat when something snapped inside of him. She’d slapped him and pinched his nipples and that made him lose it. He exploded. The nut was good. Damn good. But that wasn’t the point. Yeah, he wanted to nut. Needed it. But, he still wanted to make sure she knew he’d been up in her. He wanted to pound her insides out. Make her feel his hard dick still throbbing in her long after he was done and gone.
And he’d failed—miserably.
Fuck.
He’d never had pussy that damn good in his life. The way her walls grabbed his dick, all that wetness, all them juicy slurping sounds it made…like his dick was being sucked while he was fucking her. Pussy that good was dangerous.
But he wanted another round. Just one more time to show her what he was really made of. Not some fast-nutting whimp. He was a man. A muhfucka who made broads’ jaws lock and had them running from his deadly curve. But Nairobia was a professional dick taker. She hadn’t run from shit. She’d molded to it.
And made him nut quick.
Yeah, he was sulking. He knew his dick game was on point. He knew how to dick a broad down right. So what the fuck happened?
Lana’s non-fucking ass happened. He’d been too backed up and too goddamn overheated. Yeah. That’s what had happened. He suffered from sexual neglect. And the end result was a fast nut. Period.
Still, there was no fucking way he’d ever mention this shit to any of his boys. He’d be the brunt of every joke under the sun for at least a week or more.
Shit.
Lamar reached down and scooped up his crumpled black T-shirt. He didn’t remember ever taking it off, but there it was strewn on the floor. He pulled it on over his head, hoping like hell the wrinkles would stretch out over his muscled chest.
Nairobia watched him intently. She knew his ego was bruised. But she wasn’t about to soothe him with words of encouragement. He should have pulled out, changed positions, given his nut time to roll back in his balls, someth
ing. Not keep pounding into her kut, like he was Batman. But she knew he couldn’t help himself. He’d been too greedy for her. Now look at him.
Head hung low.
Ego deflated.
Lamar picked his shades up from the carpeted floor and slid them back onto his face. Nairobia glanced at the time. It was a quarter to nine. The club would open soon. She felt herself becoming aroused all over again at the thought of another night of free-spirited debauchery.
“See you downstairs, no?” Nairobia inquired, staring at his back as he made his way toward the door; the words: THE PLEASURE ZONE stretched in gold lettering between his shoulder blades.
“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder.
Nairobia smiled, and the sight of her plump lips still swollen from their heated kisses made him groan inwardly.
He’d really fucked up.
“Vergeven jezelf, my darling,” she called out to him.
Lamar paused in the doorway, turned around and stared at her.
He scowled. “Excuse me?”
“I said, forgive yourself.”
His throat tightened. He swallowed the knot.
“For what?” he asked, his hand on the doorknob, already knowing the answer.
Nairobia gave him a look, one filled with compassion, then said, “For losing yourself to me.”
Lamar said nothing, simply walked out, closing the door behind him.
