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“Je veux tes lèvres sur ma bite, bébé.” Marika’s pussy drips onto my lap, wetting the shaft of my dick as I repeat in English, “I want your lips on my dick, baby…”
I pull my fingers out of her, slipping each one into my mouth as Marika slides down onto her knees. Her face inches from my dick. She breathes me in. A mixture of hard horny cock and wet cunt stains.
Marika’s mouth engulfs the head of my big black cock. Her head bobbing up and down as I grind my hips forward. She sucks me, one hand squeezing the thick base, then sliding up and down on it. She slobbers and drools and spits all over it.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby…mmm…fuck…you love sucking daddy’s big chocolate dick, don’t you, baby?”
She responds with a grunt and a mouth full of spit-and-drool-covered dick, taking it to the back of her throat.
• • •
My cell rings. It’s Arianna, one of my many assistants calling from New York, tryna Skype me. I frown. What the fuck is she callin’ me for on a Saturday? I glance at the time. At one thirty in the afternoon?
I accept the call. Arianna’s smooth, brown face comes up on the screen. I can’t front. She’s a beauty. Even without all the makeup. Her hair sits wild and curly all over her head. She licks her lips, then says, “I’m sorry for calling. But it couldn’t be helped. I’d thought you’d want to know before you heard it over social media.”
“Before I heard what?” I ask, tryna keep my rising annoyance in check.
“J-Smooth was arrested…”
“What the fuck?!” I snap, feeling the vein in my neck pulse. “Again? When? Where? And what the fuck for this time?”
“For assault, possession of weapons, and terroristic threats.”
I stand, pacing the floor. “Yo, word is bond. You’ve got to be…fuckin’ kidding me.”
She gives me a pitiful look, shaking her head. “I wish…”
Jaquan Samuels, better known as J-Smooth, is one of my label’s R&B artists. I’d signed him to MK three years ago and watched his career soar. His last two albums, Portrait of A Man’s Soul and Tears & Trepidation, soared to the top of the Billboard charts and sold over 250,000 copies in its first week. And his album Tears & Trepidation won a 2013 Billboard Music Award.
On some real shit, the cat has incredible vocals and lyrics to match. But lately this muhfucka’s been more of a liability than an asset. This is the third time his dumb-ass has been snatched up. The last incident six months ago was due to some corny-ass bar brawl with some rapper over some wet pussy. That of twenty-five-year-old R&B songstress Lydia Miles who they’d both been fucking at one time or another. Allegedly words were exchanged at some Miami nightspot, then the argument erupted into J-Smooth clocking dude upside the head with a bottle, knocking him unconscious and causing gunshots to be fired into the crowd.
He’s on three years’ probation.
And they’re both being sued.
Now this shit.
In the blink of an eye, this musical heartthrob, Billboard topper is becoming a pain in my muthafuckin’ ass.
“What’d he do this time?”
“Oh, it’s ugly,” she says grimly. “He slashed Elena Mitchell’s tires and then swung a hammer at her, threatening to bash her face and knock her eye sockets in.”
My nose flares. Elena Mitchell is his on-again, off-again girl and another R&B singer who’d won season three of The Voice.
“There’s a restraining order on him and his bail is set at a two hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars. What do you want to do?”
I frown. “What the fuck you mean, what I wanna do? Not a muthafuckin’ thing. Let his muthafuckin’ ass stay there. If the muhfuckas in his posse can’t bail his ass out, fuck him. I’ll deal with him when I get back to the East Coast. Until then, I don’t wanna hear shit else about that dumb muhfucka. Got it? Get it? Good.”
I end the call.
“Who was that?” Marika questions as she’s walking into the sitting area of our master suite. She’s fully dressed in a sexy lil’ skirt and matching jacket. Her hair is pulled back into a pony
tail.
“Just some work shit,” I say, tossing my cell over on the leather chaise.
She slides her four-carat studs into her ears, screwing on the backs while staring at me through the mirror. “Okay. Not another word. But judging by the bulging vein in the center of your forehead and the one stretching along your neck, it must be serious. And if it has anything to do with that idiot J-Smooth getting arrested early this morning in Atlanta, you need to think about cutting your losses with that one. He’s a walking time bomb.”
