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Marika slyly slides her tongue over her glossed lips.
“Marika, my sweet,” Nairobia coos, voice throaty, smile wicked. “You look ravishing.”
“So do you. And you’re wearing the hell out of that dress, girl.”
She waves Marika on. “What, this old rag? Darling, please.” They giggle, then lean in and air kiss.
“You smell divine.” Nairobia squeezes Marika into her. “My tongue thickens to taste you, my darling. You know how to get my sweet juices flowing.”
Marika flushes with heat. “Oh, hush,” she whispers. “Seeing you, and I’m already a wet river.”
“Damn,” I groan low. “Both y’all about to have me nut in my drawz.”
Nairobia eyes me, licking her lips. “Aah, MarSell. Ik heb je mijn sexy chocolade gemist.” Translation: I’ve missed you, my sexy chocolate.
I grin, then lean in and kiss her on the cheek, placing my hand on the small of her back. The back of her dress drops into a sexy V-shape that tapers down to a sharp point, stopping at the crack of her ass.
A photographer with fucked-up skin and shiny hair stops in front of us and snaps our picture.
“Nairobia, baby,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth as our photo is being taken, “you’re so good for my ego.”
Marika waits for the photographer to move out of earshot and chimes, “And we both know what a big ego he has.”
“Ooh, yes, darling. We do.” They share a knowing smile. Desire darkens her expression as she grabs Marika’s hand. “MarSell, may I borrow your beautiful wife for a spell?”
“No doubt.” I glance over her shoulder and spot J-Smooth—eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses—with…I blink, then frown…with Lydia Miles on his arm and a posse behind him. “I’ma go holla at Lydia Miles.”
“The singer?” Marika asks, glancing over her shoulder.
She’s wearing a pearlized gown that clings to her curves. A gaggle of photographers spot her, and rush over to her, snapping photos. She quickly lets go of J-Smooth’s arm and smiles for the cameras as he eases back.
Marika gasps. “Ohmygod. Please tell me that isn’t J-Smooth she’s here with.” She lets out a grunt of disgust. “I thought she had a restraining order out against him.”
I shrug, shaking my head. “Nah. His other chick does.”
Marika shakes her head. “Oh, that’s right. For slashing her tires or something.”
“Let’s not babble over folly tonight,” Nairobia says, giving a two-finger wave and half-smile to a young Middle Eastern-looking cat dressed in royal garb. “Ooh, there’s my sweet prince with the dick of a spider and the balls of a bush cricket.” She blows him a kiss. “But he has the tongue of a giraffe.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Yo, you shot out, baby.”
“I’m ovulating,” she shares, snapping open a bejeweled fan and fanning her crotch area.
Marika laughs. “Nairobia, girl, you’re a mess.”
Licking her red pouty lips, Nairobia says teasingly, “And I’m wet and juicy.” She loops her arm through Marika’s. “Come, darling. Let’s go quickly…freshen up…before the festivities begin. Then I want to introduce you to the princess of Sweden.”
I eye them as they strut off—the two finest women up in this muhfucka, then make my way through the crowd.
Lydia smiles when she sees me approaching. “Oh, there he is.” She sassily struts over, titties bouncing freely, with her arms outstretched.
“What’s good, beautiful?” I lean forward and wrap my arms around her, enveloping her into a friendly embrace, lifting her up off the floor and kissing her on the cheek.
She giggles. “MarSell, you’re so lucky I’m already taken.”
It’s a loaded statement. But I know she’s referring to record labels.
“You aiight?”
