AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Man, I appreciate you, real shit. But being a DL muhfucka is one rumor you can def ignore. And that’s fact.”
And, nah, niggah, I’m not about to offer up being bisexual to you or anyone else. But on some real type shit, if he asked me if I was a bisexual muhfucka, I’m not so sure I’d tell him. I mean, what the fuck for? As far as I’m concerned, shit like that only matters if you’re tryna rock in the sheets with a muhfucka. And, yeah, it isn’t a secret how Marika feels about having him beneath the sheets with us, but we know that’s not about to happen so there’s no need in him knowing how I get down.
Boys or not.
He glances at his Rolex. “Yo, let me get up outta here. I’m meeting up with Laila real quick.”
I stand. “Oh, aiight, that’s what’s up.” I walk around and give him dap, and a brotherly embrace. He presses his body into mine.
“Damn, muhfucka, get ya dick up off me,” I say, playfully nudging him back.
He cracks up laughing. “Yo, B, you shot the fuck out, man.”
He walks toward the door. “Yo, come get at me later tonight on the court. Me and a few other cats are tryna get in a quick pickup game. Paper on the table. Fifteen hundred a point. You down?”
“No doubt. Whose team am I playing on?”
He grins. “Mine, muhfucka. Who elses?”
“Oh, aiight. Tell them muhfuckas, then, to get their money up.”
He laughs. I eye him, shaking my head as he walks out the door. The minut
e the door shuts, I flop back in my chair, wondering who the fuck is flapping their jaws, running their muthafuckin’ mouth about me.
Fuck.
THIRTY-ONE
Marcel
One week later, Marika and I are in Monte Carlo, Monaco for the Twenty-Fifth Annual World Music Awards, an international award show designed to recognize the world’s best-selling artists in various categories, hosted at the world-famous Salle des Etoiles. Although I wasn’t really beat for coming out here, I knew not coming wouldn’t be a good look.
So here we are.
I glide my hand over Marika’s hip. She rests her hand over mine. Her sexy ass is wrapped in a beaded, form-fitting couture gown. The sight of her makes blood rush to my dick.
I lean into her ear, and whisper, “I wish I could take you somewhere and slide this dick up in you real quick.”
She smiles. “Not yet, but soon. I’ll have my lips sliding down over that long, delicious cock of yours, coming all over it.”
“Damn…” I groan. “You’re killing me, baby.”
She chuckles. “Softly, I hope.”
“Always.”
I scan the room and peep Alicia Keys taking a photo with Rihanna. Someone says something that makes the two of them laugh and share a sisterly embrace.
“And look what the angels have blessed upon us,” I tease, nodding my head in the direction across the room.
Marika gasps. “She looks so fucking gorgeous,” she whispers, slinking her arm through mine.
Nairobia sashays over wearing a long, flowing, ultra-sheer dress that hangs off her smooth shoulders, showcasing her long legs, tiny waist, mouthwatering tits, and magnificent ass. The only things covered—barely—are her nipples and pussy. As usual, her dress leaves nothing for the imagination, and every muhfucka in here is envisioning fucking her, her legs wrapped around them, swimming in her juices. Heart stopping, jaw dropping, real shit…Nairobia Bryant has a body made for all-night fucking.
All eyes are on her. Conversations go on pause as she saunters by, and muhfuckas soak her in. The flimsy garment she’s rocking parts down the front, and causes muhfuckas’ eyes bulging from sockets. She looks like an Egyptian goddess.
My dick starts to stir as she nears, her expensive perfume swirling around me and making my mouth water.
