I grin at him. “This was the first time in years I’ve felt a bare cock in me like that.”
“Tonight was the first time for me.”
“In how long?” I ask.
“Ever. First time ever.”
I’m stunned. “Get out of here.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“You’re joking with me, right?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope. I won’t lie, Rashida, I’ve been with a lot of women, but always with a condom, every time. My dad used to drum that into me…”
Marcus lowers his head. I sit up and stroke his cheek with my hand, the sheet sliding down to my waist and exposing my breasts as I do. When he lifts his head again, I see that he’s teared up. He swallows hard, fighting against it, then continues.
“He always warned me that women would be trying to trick me, to get pregnant. One baby with an NBA player can set you up for life, you know? Insisting on using my own condoms because women will poke holes in them. Stuff like that.”
“I’m on the pill, Marcus. You don’t have to worry.”
“I didn’t say I was worried.”
Nice. It still surprises me that I’m the first, though.
“You mean you’ve never actually felt the insides of a vagina against you before. Until tonight. Until me.”
Having successfully fought back the tears over his dad, he smiles slightly.
“You’re the first.”
“And how was it? What’d you think?”
“Oh, my fucking God. It felt so incredible. Made it hard to hold back.”
“So, you’ve never come inside a woman?”
Marcus shakes his head again.
“Didn’t you want to tonight? Especially in the kitchen?” That was the only orgasm he’s had so far. I almost feel guilty that I’ve had three.
“Of course, I did. But I held back because I barely know you.”
“Well I’m glad I was your first. Something to make me stand out among all those other women.”
He cups my exposed breast in his hand, his thumb stroking my nipple. “You have no idea how much you already stand out, girl.”
I blush. “Now I know you’re lying. How old are you?” I’m not sure why I hadn’t thought about his age before.
“Twenty-six.” He looks so much older, but in some ways, he still acts like a young man.
“Well, I’m twenty-nine. That makes me an older woman.”
“By three years.”
“And by one six-year-old. I’m a mother, remember?”
“True, but you’re the most beautiful mother I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Oh, my. That may be the loveliest compliment I’ve ever received.
Marcus’s hand is becoming more insistent on my breast now. My nipple is hard as he rolls it between his thumb and index finger. I notice that his cock is plump and beginning to rise with desire. It occurs to me again that he’s only had one orgasm, quite a while ago, and he fucked me patiently in all those positions for a very long time. I take him in my hand and gently stroke him.
Leaning toward me on one elbow, he takes his hand off my breast and uses it to frame my face, then kisses me again. The kiss is as intense as all the others tonight, and as our tongues play I feel his erection growing harder. It’s incredibly sexy to know that a simple kiss is having such an effect on a man who’s been with who knows how many women. Holding his cock and feeling it grow bigger and firmer in my hand gives me a sense of power.
I would love to fuck Marcus again, to feel that bare cock inside of me. I can’t, though. I’m sore from all the sex we’ve had. My poor pussy is worn out. I’ll eventually get used to his size and it won’t always be an issue—if we continue to do this, that is. He may decide to move on now that he’s had me once. Make the conquest, then chase some different prey. Isn’t that what rich young black men do? Why should this brother be any different?
Marcus’s cock twitches in my hand and snaps me back to the present. He’s rock-hard again. I gaze into his eyes and try to reconcile the sweet man I’ve had here in my condo with the arrogant jerk I’ve seen elsewhere.
“Do you have anything you want to try this time?” he asks.
I squeeze that hard cock. “I can’t take this again tonight.”
His eyes plead with me.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I say. “I’m not going to sleep until you come again.”
I lower my mouth to him. This will be fun; I’ve been holding back on my best bedroom skill. I know for a fact that not many women can give a blowjob like I can.
My tongue circles his head several times, slickening it. Marcus is already moaning when I open my mouth and take in just the head, holding it there as my tongue continues to caress it. Now I tease him, kissing the side of his shaft all the way down, then spending a long time licking his balls and taking them into my mouth, one at a time, before eventually returning to the head.
Taking him in my mouth again, I push down, feeling him slide back over my tongue. I continue until he hits the back of my throat and pause there, sucking him. Marcus moans in pleasure, unaware of what’s to come. I know my way around a big cock. In addition to the aforementioned bad lover who was even bigger than Marcus, my ex was also very well hung. So, I’ve had lots of practice.
Without taking my mouth off him, I ease my body into a more conducive position. Once I’m ready, I slowly push my lips farther down his shaft. I’d forgotten the feeling of a cock moving into my throat, but it comes back to me like riding a bicycle.
“Oh, shit,” Marcus says in a ragged voice.
I continue down until my lips reach the very base of his cock. I can feel him all the way back, quite a way down my throat.
“Fuck.”
Just wait, Marcus.
The sensation isn’t pleasant, but my gag reflex is not a problem. And the mental aspect of what I’m doing is a total turn-on. I am in total control over this giant of a man. I pull my head back and feel him slowly slide out, inch by inch, until eventually I have only that big head left in my mouth. Then I open my eyes and make sure he’s looking at me as I repeat the process, looking fiercely into his eyes as I take him in all the way until he bottoms out.
His moaning and exclamations grow more frequent and desperate as I continue. Marcus is watching me intently, his eyes growing wider every time I take his entire length into my mouth. I can tell he never expected this from me, of all people. His hips begin to move back and forth, forcing himself in and out of my mouth. I let him fuck me this way, grabbing his ass and pulling to encourage him to go as deep and as hard as he wants. I’m still looking right at him and he can’t believe he’s seeing that big dick disappear completely over and over, and that I’m taking it. His hands grab my head as he continues to fuck my mouth, his cock moving in and out of my throat.
Marcus moans loudly and I know he’s getting close. I pull my head nearly all the way off, keeping just the last few inches in my mouth and not letting him push farther. My tongue begins to work furiously on the head. His hands still hold my head tightly as I feel him swell in my mouth.
“FUCK!”
I feel him unload in my mouth and keep sucking hungrily. He groans as he continues to coat my tongue and I don’t let up. Even after his orgasm ends, I keep him in my mouth, licking and sucking while I savor his taste. Eventually I slide back a little, looking into his eyes again as I kiss the head repeatedly.
“Holy shit.”
Yeah, holy shit is right. I’m a woman who loves a challenge, and I don’t know if I’ve ever had that much fun giving head before. It’s funny how doing something like what I’ve just done can give me such a sense of accomplishment, but I can’t deny how proud I feel right now. Not to mention how turned on I am; my pussy is as wet as it’s been all night.
I can easily call it a night at this point, but once Marcus recovers he insists on returning the favor. I doubt I’ll be able to come again, but I’m surprised as his tongue begins to glide over my clit.
Marcus is very talented orally and I wonder how many times he’s done this. Hundreds? Thousands? Who knows. All I can say with certainty is that the man knows his way around a pussy. He expertly leads me at just the right pace until I finally squeeze my thighs against his ears and scream out in pleasure. It’s my fourth orgasm tonight, and is less intense than the others, but this one seems to come from some place deeper inside of me.
Afterward, we lie in bed, his arm around me as I come down from the high.
“I have to give credit where credit is due, Marcus. Four orgasms in a single night is a new record for me.”
“Yeah? Well you know what they say: Records are made to be broken. That one isn’t going to last long.”
“And how do you know that?” I ask smugly.
“Because we’re going to do this again soon.”
I would have preferred “Because we’re going be seeing each other a lot.” Instead, I can’t help but hear it as nothing but a promise that he wants to have sex with me one more time.
Does that mean only once more? Should that disappoint me? Maybe I should just be happy to get a night or two of great sex, without risking anything more.
I’m not sure. All I know is that I adore what has taken place tonight in my condo. Marcus has been a gentleman and a supremely talented lover. I could get used to this version of Marcus Jennings.
Although it’s past three in the morning, he apologizes for having to go, saying the team has a flight at eight a.m. out of LAX for a game against the Utah Jazz tonight. It’s a big game with possible playoff ramifications.
Once he’s dressed, I remain blissfully naked and walk him to the door. One more delicious kiss, during which his hands roam all over my bare ass, then he’s gone.
I’m tired, sleepy, very sore, and completely sated sexually.
I make a mental note to call Ronald in the morning and cancel the date we had planned for tonight. I’ll tell him he’s a nice man and I enjoyed being with him, but I don’t see the point in pursuing anything more.
Despite my exhaustion, I can’t sleep. I keep replaying the events of the evening in delicious detail.
All in all, I’d have to say it was a very promising first date.
19
Marcus
The flight to Salt Lake City on the team’s private jet is only ninety minutes, not nearly long enough for me to catch up on the sleep I missed last night, so I don’t bother to try.
I’m not sure I would be able to sleep anyway, because I can’t stop thinking about the intense sex I had with Rashida.
In a way, it doesn’t make sense to me. Since I lost my virginity back in high school, I have done some seriously crazy shit when it comes to sex. Two women at the same time. Three women. Once I even had five women in my bed, just because I could. And I fucked all five of them. Most men have fantasies about doing shit like that, but how many of them ever get the chance even once in their lifetime? I can do it almost any time I want. My status as a celebrity doesn’t mean I can have sex with any woman I want—but it means I can fuck most of them.
That sex with Rashida, though—that was something else entirely. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman, but unlike most of the woman I’ve slept with, she’s also a mother and a career woman. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from her in bed. I just feel attracted to her for some reason, and that attraction made me want to hook up with her.
And what a hookup. Damn. Everything about it was insanely hot. She has a slammin’ body, with great natural tits and perfect-size booty—not too big, not too small.
She wasn’t shy about fucking, either, taking everything I had in every position we tried. We were in that bed for over four hours. Fuck, then take a break. Fuck, then take a break. Over and over. And that blowjob. Oh, my God. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had my dick sucked, and maybe only a half dozen were memorable. As long as I live, though, I won’t be able to forget the image of Rashida looking up at me while somehow managing to take in every inch of my hard-on. It was truly amazing.
If I had to fuck only one woman for the rest of my life, I’d want it to be someone like Rashida.
There was also a distinct feeling of comfort in being with her, especially so soon after my dad’s death. It was as if she wrapped her wings around me, pulling me in close and giving me exactly what I needed just at a time when I needed it most. That’s the part that feels strange to me; I mean, sex is sex, and even incredible sex is still just a physical thing. This was more, this sensation of calm in the middle of a shitstorm. It’s not a feeling I’ve ever related to sex before, and I just don’t know what to make of it.
I would put last night among the top sexual experiences of my life, and I’m down for doing it again. As soon as possible.
Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I focus on tonight’s game. I don’t want to still have this hard-on when we land in Salt Lake City.
Against the Jazz, my shot just isn’t falling. I don’t like to think it’s because I was up so late last night, but something’s not right. At halftime, I’ve got five points, all on free throws. All fourteen shots I’ve taken were shit, and not one found the bottom of the net. In the locker room, I’m getting looks from some of my teammates.
As we head through the tunnel for the second half, I catch Demarius and pull him aside.
“Listen, D, I’m not feelin’ it today. Nothing’s working. We’re only seventeen down, though, so we can still get this done. They’re expecting me to shoot my way out of this slump, but I’m going to start feeding you instead. They’re not looking for that. Be ready.”
Demarius looks at me strangely, then nods. I’m not sure I’ve ever told him to be ready for a pass before.
The second half is the polar opposite of the first. Whenever I get the ball, I look for Demarius at the three-point line or Andre in the paint. Since I’m still attracting two defenders, one of my guys is open nearly every play and by the end of the third we’ve cut the deficit to five points. More of the same in the fourth quarter, and the game comes down to the wire. Down by one with six seconds left, I’m ready to take the shot, but I’m double-teamed so I swing the ball to Demarius. He rises for a three, then spots a wide-open Andre under the hoop and hits him with a perfect pass. Andre gets the shot up just before the buzzer sounds and we walk away with a huge win that puts the Lakers a half-game back in the playoff race with a single game left.
Demarius ends up with twenty-eight points on the night, and Andre has twenty-two. I make two of the three shots I take and end up with a measly twelve points, but a career-high nine assists. As I walk off the court, I see the Lakers broadcasters pulling Demarius and Andre aside for a TV interview.
The team bus ride back to the hotel is fun. Everyone is psyched about the possibility of making the playoffs. Just by reaching the first round, the team would split about a half-million bucks. To some of these guys, that’s a decent bonus. Not to mention the playoffs raise your profile and strengthen your bargaining power come contract time.
As I cross the hotel lobby, I’m stunned to see a gorgeous blonde woman headed for me. She’s got wavy blonde hair and a lovely face, and is wearing a short white and blue print dress. It’s strapless and is held up by a halter top that her tits are keeping firmly in place.
Andre sees her, too, and says, “What the fuck? In Salt Lake City?”
This extremely religious city is among the worst spots in the league when it comes to hooking up with groupies. Especially hot one like this.
When she reaches me, she introduces herself as Madison and we chat for a few minutes until the other players and team employees have all gone to their rooms. She’s in sports marketing and says she’s been a fan of mine since my Kentucky days.
“How about we get drink?” she asks. “So, we can talk a little more? Or we could go up to your room and talk, if you want.”
I’ve heard that line at least a hundred times, and probably taken a woman up on it half of those. I look Madison over. She’s got an a
mazing body under that dress, no doubt about it. She seems smart and funny, and eager to get to know me. Whether it’s for fun or to possibly further her career is unimportant—the fact of the matter is all I have to do is accept her offer and my cock will be inside of her within the hour.
My brain whirs a few times as I sneak a glance at those tits, begging to be freed from that halter.
“Madison, thanks for the offer, but I’m exhausted and need to get some sleep. Maybe next time.”
She asks for my number and I hand her Mason’s card. “This is my manager. He’ll give you my info.”
Mason won’t, of course, unless I instruct him to. As I watch Madison’s long, toned legs walk away, I wonder if I made the right decision.
Fifteen minutes later in my room, I know I did. Rashida answers my call on the second ring.
“Congrats on the win,” she says.
“This has been my lucky weekend,” I reply.
“Is that so?”
“It is, and I’m not ready for it to end. We fly back in the morning. Can I see you tomorrow afternoon?”
She hesitates, then says, “Sure. I can get a sitter for Jayden.”
“Perfect. Come to my place, and bring a bathing suit.”
Rashida laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“A black man with a pool?”
I laugh, too, remembering the stereotype about us not being able to swim.
“Nah, I’m just afraid we’ll spring a leak in my waterbed.”
20
Rashida
I’m excited as I drive up Sunset, following my GPS’s spoken directions. As much as I’ve thought about Marcus in recent weeks, until today I never once thought about where he lives. I know he makes a fortune playing basketball, and when I take the right turn onto North Hillcrest and head up into the Hollywood Hills, I begin to see just how truly wealthy this man is. The houses are huge, gated residences—in fact, I can barely see any of them from the road because of the landscaping purposely blocking my view.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Page 13