He sat down across from me at the table. “Let’s cut the bullshit, why don’t we?”
“I was never bullshitting, Martin. I sincerely hope you haven’t been wasting my time with bullshit for the past three months.”
He glanced down at his watch. “It’s after eight. Want to grab some dinner?”
It was my time to laugh at him. “You’re not seriously asking me to have dinner with you?”
“Why not? We both have to eat.”
As much as I hated to admit it, my stomach had been belting out the Battle Hymn of the Republic for about an hour. “Okay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t like—no, scratch that—I refuse to discuss business while I’m eating.”
He stood up and started putting on his suit jacket. “Fine. We’ll discuss something else then.”
I put on my blazer and headed toward the door. “Fine by me.”
Martin took me to the most elegant restaurant in town, Fratelli and Sons. I was shocked when they gave us a table without a reservation. I guess the Hammonton name still held a little clout. Once the waiter took our orders, Martin wasted no time getting into my business.
“So what’s your real name?”
I almost choked on my cognac. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know good and damn well your name isn’t Lourdes. Sounds like something you made up, probably in law school.”
He grinned at me and I wanted to puke. Not because he wasn’t attractive, because he was. Six-foot-two with caramel, smooth-as-a-baby’s-ass skin, long curly eyelashes, and a cinematic smile. I wanted to puke because he read my ass like a book. Until I started Harvard Law, my name was Shanika Brown. I didn’t think the name sounded professional so I legally changed it.
I tried to change the subject. “You’re so damn arrogant.”
“And you’re so damn pretty.”
I almost choked again. He was up to something and I didn’t like it. The next sentence out of his mouth proved me right.
“Let’s play a game, Lourdes.”
I chuckled. “What type of game?”
“I intimidate you, don’t I?” he asked confidently.
“Intimidate?” I adjusted the napkin in my lap and took another sip of my cognac. “Nothing and nobody ever intimidates me. I know I’m the shit, I’ve always been the shit, and I’m always going to be the shit.”
He threw his head back in laughter. “Your conceit is somewhat attractive.”
“I’m not conceited. I’m simply convinced.”
He reached over that table and took my hand. “So convince me to come down by 5 percent.”
I yanked my hand away. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last ninety days.”
“Maybe you need to consider another approach,” he stated sarcastically.
My curiosity was piqued. “Another approach like what?”
He looked at me seductively and the desire in his eyes was unmistakable, almost scary. “You said before that you’re more of a man than I am. Well, I’m man enough to tell you I’ve wanted to take you to bed since day one. That’s part of the reason I’ve let this whole thing drag out this long.”
I was speechless. I was taken off guard. I was instantly wet.
“Everyone calls you the bitch in heels but I admire your determination and aggressiveness. It mirrors my own.”
“Bitch in heels?” I giggled, trying to save face. “Sounds like some of those young bucks down in the trenches have a problem with a woman of authority.”
“Forget them,” he said, taking my hand again. “Let’s talk about me and you. I’m wondering if a woman full of so much passion about her career is just as passionate in the bedroom. Are you?”
I yanked my hand away again. “None of your damn business, Martin Hammonton. Maybe this dinner wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Just like I figured. I intimidate the hell out of you.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up a breadstick out of the basket, wondering how long my blackened chicken over fettuccine was going to take.
“Okay, Lourdes, if I don’t intimidate you, prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove jack shit to you,” I snarled back at him.
“What kind of panties are you wearing?”
I couldn’t believe his audacity, even if it was turning me on. “What do my panties have to do with anything?”
“Tell me what kind,” he insisted.
I decided what the hell and answered. “Red lace with a thong back.”
“Damn!” he exclaimed. “I knew you were a sexy lingerie kind of woman.”
“I just like to feel feminine, that’s all.”
“That’s amazing, since you’re more of a man than me.”
We shared a good laugh.
“Maybe I was a bit out of line,” I readily admitted. “I was just frustrated with your tactics.”
“Let me see them.”
“See what?”
“Your panties.”
“Are you out of your damn...”
“Your food will be out in a few moments,” our waiter said, preempting the rest of my sentence. “Can I get you another round of drinks while you’re waiting?”
Martin answered, “No thanks.”
The waiter walked away just as I was appreciating being saved by the bell.
“So let me see them.”
“Do you really expect me to stand up and show you my panties?” I asked, stunned beyond disbelief.
“No. Take them off and give them to me.”
Now, normally a woman would be highly offended by such a comment, but Shanika reared her freaky head and it was on.
“Fine,” I said, getting up from the table. “I’ll go to the ladies’ lounge and remove them.”
He pulled my arm. “No, do it right here.”
“Right here?”
“Yes, sit down and take them off.”
I sat back down and started surveying the situation. The restaurant was packed. It was dimly lit and a long white linen tablecloth covered our table. I inched my skirt up and shimmied out of my panties. I reached down, picked them up, and then slid them across the table beside his salad fork.
Martin held them up to his nose, whiffed them like they were roses, and then put them in his inside jacket pocket.
“Satisfied now?” I asked, proud of myself for proving that he didn’t intimidate me.
“Not quite.”
I frowned.
“Finger yourself.”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe that he even went there. But once again, it was turning me on big-time.
“Finger yourself and then give me your hand.”
I looked around and everyone appeared to be chowing down or engrossed in intimate conversation. I rubbed my clit with the forefinger of my left hand and then held it out to Martin. He drew my entire finger into his mouth, sucked on it like a vacuum, and then expressed his approval. “Very tasty. Just like I knew you would be.”
I blushed. “You’ve really thought about it a lot, huh?”
“Every damn night.” He flashed that cinematic smile at me and I melted like chocolate. “I have an idea. Why don’t I just pay the bill so we can get out of here?”
“But we haven’t eaten,” I protested. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll feed you,” he quickly replied. “We can feed each other.” Martin never gave me a chance to respond. He threw a fifty on top of the breadbasket, stood up, and pulled me up from the table. We walked out of the restaurant in silence. When we got out to the curb, through the picturesque window I saw our waiter standing in front of our table holding a tray of food.
Martin unlocked the car and opened the passenger-side door for me. As I watched him walk around the front of the car, I contemplated my next move. The ramifications of my impending actions on my career could be catastrophic. By the time he got in, I had made my final decision. I wanted the dick.
He turned on
some jazz music and we engaged in minimal conversation for the next twenty minutes. The next thing I knew we were pulling up to the front gates of Broadmore Hills, the Hammonton’s estate.
I was a nervous wreck. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea. I thought we were going someplace else. You live with your parents?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I live in the guest cottage.” He took a hold of my trembling hand. “Relax. No one is going to bother us.”
Images of his father walking in on us while I had a mouthful of dick ran through my mind. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
He pulled up to the guardhouse. I held my head down and curtained my face with my hand while the gigantic security gates rolled open. We drove up the long, winding driveway past the main house to the guest cottage in the rear.
I jumped out of the car and made a mad dash for the front door before Martin was even out of the car. “What’s your rush? You don’t have a key.”
“I’m just ready to get inside.”
“Do I sense some intimidation?” he chided.
I didn’t respond. I just zeroed in on his key going into the lock. He couldn’t get the door open fast enough for me.
“Come on in,” he said after the door was open and the light in the foyer was switched on. “Make yourself at home.”
I walked in and was completely in awe. His place was laid the hell out. Italian leather furniture, exquisite lamps, walls covered with originals from famous African-American artists like Wak and Vanderzee. What fascinated me the most was the greenhouse attached to the back of the cottage.
“You have a green thumb?” I asked in genuine shock. “You don’t seem like a plant enthusiast to me.”
He looked offended. “It’s relaxing. I need to do something peaceful after dealing with bitches in heels all day.”
He laughed but I didn’t see a damn thing funny. “You have one more time to call me out of my name.”
“I have the feeling you get called out of your name a lot, Lourdes.” The not-so-subtle reference to my name told me everything I needed to know. Martin had obviously done an equal amount of research on me and knew my birth name was Shanika.
I went out in the greenhouse to resist the urge to slap the shit out of him. He followed me and started giving me an express course on exotic plants from around the world, pointing them out individually and giving me a brief overview of their history.
I was beginning to think the desire he professed for me at the restaurant had subsided. Until...
He grabbed my breasts from behind and started grinding his dick on my ass. I turned around and grabbed him by the neck, pulling his face down to mine so I could explore his mouth with my tongue. I had subconsciously been yearning for that tongue action for months.
He picked me up and placed me on one of the wooden tables, knocking a couple of plants to the ground. I guess they weren’t as rare as he claimed them to be. Either that or my pussy was a greater priority.
It was steamy and humid in the greenhouse, which only added to my intense horniness. He lifted the bottom of my dress up and took advantage of my easily accessible, already bare crotch. Before I knew it, he was eating the living daylights out of me.
I don’t think I’ve ever cum so quick in my life, even when I’ve used my twelve-inch dildo. Damn, damn, damn! When I came, my feet hit something and we were bathed in warm water from the sprinkler system overhead. It was so incredible. It was so sensual.
Martin lifted me up in the air, my legs straddled around his shoulders and his head still buried between my thighs. He carried me back into his house and laid me down on a plush rug by the gas fireplace. He must’ve turned it on when I was already in the greenhouse. It was blazing when we came back in.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, getting up and heading into the kitchen.
I gazed into the flames and pondered over the situation. I knew I had absolutely no business there, but dick is like oxygen. You don’t miss it until it’s gone and it had been out of my life for quite some time.
One thing was sure. Whatever was about to go down between Martin and me wouldn’t be a one-shot deal. I think we both realized that. I wanted to confirm it, though.
When he returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray filled with a bowl of strawberries, a bottle of champagne, and two flutes, I asked him, “Where do you see this going?”
He sat the tray on the coffee table and joined me on the floor. I propped myself up on my elbows so I could stare him in the eyes. I like to read people’s eyes. You can always tell if they’re lying.
“Honestly?” he replied.
“Yes, honestly.”
“Lourdes Mitchell or Shanika Brown or whomever you choose to be today, part of me hates the ground you walk on and the other part admires the hell out of you. All I really want is to see if you’re as wild in the sack as you are out of the sack.”
I took a restorative breath and searched for the right words to say. “So you know my real name?”
“Of course. You underestimated me and that was a mistake. I knew I would conquer you from the first day I stepped foot in Jones, Baker and Kibblehouse and you smirked at me like you owned the world.”
“Conquer me? Man, please! I’m doing you a favor by gracing you with my presence. Not the other way around.”
Martin took my hand and kissed it. “So, are you staying or going?”
“This is crazy,” I blurted out. “We can’t.”
“Why can’t we?” Martin started pulling my damp dress up over my head and I didn’t resist. “Give me one logical reason why we can’t be together tonight and start arguing over the merger again tomorrow.”
“Like it never happened?” I asked.
He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off of his shoulders while he undid the buttons on his sleeves. “Yes, like it never happened.”
“Listen, Martin. As long as you know this is just about sex, then…”
“Shhhhhh,” Martin whispered, covering my mouth with his index finger. “Don’t say another word. Just fuck me. We’ll worry about the repercussions tomorrow.”
Martin slipped his tongue in my mouth. I could taste my essence on his tongue. That excited me and our kiss grew deeper until we were both moaning uncontrollably. We didn’t come up for air for ten minutes.
Martin stood up and unzipped his pants. I got on my knees and helped him take them off. There it was, staring me right in the face. His dick was such a scrumptious-looking specimen.
I sucked on the head of it until he threw his head back in ecstasy. Then I went for it and deep-throated the entire thing. Even when he sat back down on the floor, I wouldn’t release him from my oral stronghold. Not until he exploded in my mouth and gave me the liquid candy I’d been craving.
We smeared each other with the juice from the strawberries and took turns licking it off. I figured out he was ticklish and lingered around his belly button until he couldn’t take it anymore.
I climbed on top of him and contracted my pussy muscles on the shaft of his dick, taking more and more of it in until I could feel his thighs slapping up against mine as I went up and down. He poured the chilled champagne down my back and it trickled down between my ass cheeks. We both came and took a little break, basking in the glow of the fire.
We took it to the bedroom and went at each other in several different positions until the sun peeked its head over the horizon the following morning.
Martin served me breakfast in bed. Turkey bacon, grits, and scrambled eggs. The only thing a man had ever served me for breakfast was a bowl of cold cereal. I ate every drop on my plate. I was still starving from the night before.
Martin asked me to join him in the shower and I eagerly complied. He had me place my foot on the rim of the tub and spread my pussy lips so he could eat me out under the steady stream of warm water. Then he had me face the wall so he could take me from behind. I came so hard that I cried. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.<
br />
We spent the rest of the day in bed, getting to know each other in three ways: mentally, physically, and orally. We found out that we had a hell of a lot in common. Everything from our favorite foods to our favorite music to our favorite athletes. It was a match made in heaven—or hell, depending on how you looked at it.
Our intention was to just end it right there. To go back to being enemies, but things didn’t turn out like that. The sex between us was so addictive that we both knew we couldn’t let it go. We ended up fucking on the conference table just about every evening before walking out of there like we despised each other. It was adventurous at first, but both of us started craving the real thing. We needed to get the merger out of the way so we could have guilt-free sex.
Martin and I decided to get together his father and the partners from my corporation for a night of beer and karaoke. Somewhere between Charles singing “Bad to the Bone,” and Mr. Hammonton singing “What’s Going On,” they came to an agreement on the merger all by themselves.
That let Martin and me off of the hook. We didn’t want to look like coconspirators because we were sleeping together. Yes, the word got out big time. It was probably the biggest water-cooler story of the decade. It didn’t matter though. We were proud to announce that we were together.
In fact, Martin and I did a little merger and acquisition of our own. We got married last fall and two months ago we acquired our beautiful son, Caleb. The most stressful situation of my life ended up netting me a vice presidency and the man of my dreams. What more could a sistah possibly ask for?
That’s What Friends Are For
Nilaja A. Montgomery
Women suck! I hate them. They’re good-for-nothing low-down dirty dogs. Actually, that’s a harsh thing to say, considering I am a woman and dogs are faithful. If I had any kind of sense, I’d be straight. Naw. That wouldn’t work. I can’t stand that whole leaving-up-the-toilet-seat thing. So now it’s back to women.
Why do they piss me off? I shouldn’t even say them. It’s more like her. Rahiema Walker. My ex-girlfriend. Correction, make that ex-fiancée. Why is she my ex? Because she’s a playaette and tried to play the wrong woman. I wasn’t havin’ it. You would think that after three years you could trust a bitch. But no, that hoochie was fuckin’ some barely legal tramp at the high school around the corner from my apartment building. So I dumped her. And yes, I kept the ring. It’s worth at least a couple of hundred. I wasn’t about to walk away empty-handed. Not after all the bullshit I put up with from that worthless piece of human flesh.
Best Black Women's Erotica Page 17