I continue up the winding streets until I see the address Marcus gave me. From my car, this one looks just like all the others. A tall trimmed hedge with even taller trees behind it prevents anyone from getting a glimpse inside. I turn into the drive and stop at the gate, pushing the intercom button. A second later, the gate swings open and I see his beautiful house.
It’s quite large, though not as massive as I thought it might be. The architecture is sleek and modern, and though it’s not exactly my style, it’s nonetheless impressive. I pull up to the front and see Marcus coming out to greet me. He looks delectable in ecru linen pants and a cream T-shirt, with no shoes. I mean, seriously, does this man ever dress sloppily? When I’m close enough to see his face, a sexy smile makes me think he’s very happy to see me again.
I exit my car and he’s there to wrap me up in his arms and give me a good squeeze, which I return just as enthusiastically, my body already growing excited by what likely lies ahead. Before I can take another step, he’s kissing me, and I happily give in to his demand for affection. His kiss feels as heavenly as I remember, and we stay locked in mutual ecstasy for a full minute before he slowly releases me. Good thing, because my calves were starting to hurt from tiptoeing.
“I’m glad you could come. Want to see the place?”
Marcus escorts me inside and shows me around. The interior is similar to the exterior: modern, elegant and very bachelor-esque. The furnishings are expensive, but the place is lacking a desperately needed warmth. I get the full tour of the six bed, eight bath house. Luckily, the interior designer Marcus worked with knew what he was doing, because despite that cold feeling, the place looks amazing. The kitchen and nearby breakfast nook are as big as my entire condo. He’s converted his guest house into a gym, complete with a half basketball court. There’s a twenty-seat movie theater and his “boy room” which consists of a pool table, video game machines, massive TV, a half-dozen leather bean bag chairs, and a bar.
The room that most surprises me is his music studio. I had no idea Marcus played an instrument, much less composed music. The studio has several keyboards, guitars, microphones, and a computer with a huge screen. He plays me a song he’s been working on, and I’m floored at the quality of both the recording and the song itself. Plus, he can sing, and his singing voice is impressively smooth and sexy. This brother is deeper and more talented that I’ve been giving him credit for.
We eventually reach the living room again, where at the push of a button, one entire wall slides away to open to the back patio. I love how this room makes me feel like I’m outdoors, yet indoors at the same time.
One part of the tour was missing, though.
“You not going to show me your bedroom, Marcus?” I ask playfully.
“I’m saving that for later,” he says, then adds, “we both know we’re going to end up there anyway.”
Less than an hour later, after a blissful dip in his infinity pool overlooking West Hollywood, and Century City and Santa Monica beyond it, I’m beyond ready to see that bedroom. Feeling Marcus’s hard body, slippery from the water, as we made out in the pool, has left me ridiculously horny. I was trying not to be the one who went there first, but when I suddenly feel Marcus’s erection pressing against my bare thigh, I decide it’s time. We’re both still in our swimsuits, but there’s no mistaking the bulge touching me underwater.
I have an idea, but it’ll take some courage. I look around to see if I can see his neighbors’ homes—and more importantly if his neighbors can see me. Satisfied about our privacy, I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock through his trunks as I kiss Marcus forcefully, letting him know exactly how much I want him. I take a deep breath as I step out of the pool, then turn to face him and confidently peel off my one-piece suit.
Naked and dripping wet, I say, “I can’t take it anymore foreplay, Marcus. Show me that bedroom now.”
I watch as he removes his trunks in the pool, then tosses them onto a nearby lounge chair. Climbing the steps, he slowly, deliberately emerges from the pool naked. Water glistens as it streams down his chiseled ebony body, his large hard-on preceding him.
It’s the most breathtakingly sexy thing I’ve ever seen.
Then this magnificent man approaches me and in one movement, bends to scoop up my naked body in his strong arms. Now in a hurry, he strides purposefully through the house to his bedroom, were he holds me a foot above his king-size bed and lets go. I barely have time to land on the mattress before his head is between my legs, his tongue licking and probing. Marcus is talented and persistent, and I come hard before our bodies have even dried. By then, he’s hard as a rock, sticking straight out toward me as I lie on the bed. I motion for him to approach my face, then I lift his cock out of the way and bury my face in his balls. His lack of hair is a pleasant change and I find myself enjoying this more than ever.
I don’t take his cock in my mouth just yet—I’ll save that for later. When I’m done with his balls, he’s more than ready. I lie back on the bed and open my legs for him, and as he positions his cock at my eager opening, I realize we’re about to have condomless sex again. Marcus must have that same thought, because he looks at me, gauging my willingness.
Fuck it. I can sense how much he wants that sensation again, and I know I’m dying to feel it myself. I eagerly nod consent, my pussy thoroughly wet and my stomach knotted in anticipation.
Marcus proceeds to push into my body so slowly, so deliberately, that by the time he’s halfway in, I’m already in heaven. It’s electrifying to feel him enter me this gradually, his hard cock opening me wide as it inches its way inside. Wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders, I feel deliciously feminine. I decide just to let go, to do anything and everything he wants me to. Sex like this doesn’t come around that often, and I’m going to enjoy this as much as possible while it lasts. Marcus slowly picks up speed, thrusting faster, and I slam my hips against him in rhythm, fucking him as hard as he’s fucking me.
He hammers me forcefully like that for a while, then suddenly moans loudly and I feel his body tense up. I know he’s got to be close. I have a sudden overwhelming desire to feel his cum inside of me, to let him release his aggression while our bodies are still joined in unison.
“Come inside me,” I whisper.
He looks at me and I instantly know what he’s thinking. All those women his father warned him about, trying to get knocked up for financial gain.
“I’m not like that, Marcus. I’m on the pill, remember? We’re safe.” He looks into my eyes, still unsure even as he begins to pound me fiercely. He wants reassurance, so I say, “You know you can trust me.”
Almost immediately upon saying that, I feel my own orgasm approaching out of nowhere. It arises from somewhere deep within me, and the hammering of his cock coaxes it quickly. Marcus grunts and comes hard. My hips instinctively tip up as I wrap my legs behind his ass and pull him hard toward me, into me. He groans and his hips slam me repeatedly. When I become aware of the sensation of his cum spraying inside me, I grab his biceps tightly and tumble with him into that bliss, coming hard as my legs squeeze him forcefully. The feeling of that big cock filling me up pushes me to an insane orgasm, with wave after wave after wave cascading throughout my body. I scream out in raw, abject lust, grinding my clit against him till we both eventually slow down at the same pace.
We lie there for a moment, spent. Then Marcus raises his head and looks down into my eyes, his forehead speckled with droplets of sweat. I see a look of wonder in his eyes and smile at him.
“Feels good to come in a woman, doesn’t it, baby?”
Oh, shit. I called him “baby.” I pause, hoping he doesn’t have a problem with it. On the contrary, he grins at me—a beautiful, joyful grin that tells me I’ve separated him from his troubles again for a while.
“It feels good to come inside you,” he replies, “especially at the same time you were coming.”
I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.
When we finally leave his bed and collect our clothes so I can get home, we’ve each had three huge orgasms. For his third one, I treated him to another blowjob, then told him to come on my tits to finish. It was a sexy, dirty thrill to watch him jerk off so close to me, to witness his orgasm as it happened.
We kiss goodbye, and this parting kiss is more intense than before, as if our connection has deepened. We talk for a minute or two, Marcus holding me in his arms, then another kiss, and even more talk. Neither one of us wants to stop. The second I leave, this moment dissolves and begins drifting further away in time. If I stay, the moment continues. It takes a full half hour for us to part, and the only reason I finally leave Marcus is because I’m already past the time I told RaeJean I’d be home.
I’m on cloud nine as I pass the gate and pull out of his driveway. The sex with Marcus this weekend was astounding and wonderful, and I know deep down that I will likely never have sex that utterly magnificent with another man. That’s okay, though, as long as he and I continue to do this.
But how long will that be? Are Marcus and I a couple now? What the hell is going on?
Little by little I start to second-guess myself. Marcus is a player, and even if I’ve managed to give him good enough sex to keep his interest for now, I know that chances are he will stray. Probably sooner, rather than later. Should I walk away from this to avoid that risk? Or do I buy in completely to the fantasy that I’m the woman who can finally tame the bad boy once and for all? Isn’t that the rocky shore on which countless women’s hopes have been dashed?
21
Marcus
I watch Rashida pull out of my drive and wonder what has hit me.
It’s not just the jaw-dropping sex Rashida and I have together, but the way I feel when I’m around her. Simply put, she makes me happy. I’m talking rainbows and moonbeams and shit like that.
I’ll give it another few weeks, but if things between us keep going this well, I can see this becoming a real relationship. I haven’t had one of those since I was in high school.
In the morning, the team flies to New York City for our final regular season game against the Knicks. The Lakers need to win this game to have any chance at making the playoffs. If Dallas wins tonight, they’ll get the last playoff spot regardless. But if they lose and we win, we go to the playoffs and the Mavs start their summer vacation. The last time I played in a game this big was my lone year in college, when I led Kentucky to the Final Four before we lost to Duke.
During the long flight my mind jumps back and forth between Rashida and my dad. First the awesome sex, then my father’s agonizing absence. I decide to distract myself by joining the poker game some of the guys have going. They used to invite me to play, but when I kept declining the offer they eventually stopped asking. Normally I spend my time on the plane alone, composing beats on my iPad. Consequently, the guys seem surprised when I take a seat and tell them to deal me in.
When the plane lands at LaGuardia a couple of hours later, I’ve lost three thousand bucks—and had a great time doing it. I laughed so hard my stomach was starting to hurt. I used to hear laughter coming from these same guys playing cards and just turned up my headphones to drown it out.
The game against the Knicks is insane, by far the most exciting game I’ve been in as a pro. The Knicks need this win to secure home court advantage during the first round of the playoffs, so the national media is out in full force to cover these two marquee teams battling it out. The game is nationally televised on ESPN and big-name celebrities are scattered throughout the first few rows.
The Knicks come out blazing and at halftime, we’re down by eight points. As we regroup in the locker room at the half, Coach Madden informs us that Dallas lost their game—meaning if we win, we make the playoffs. If we don’t, our season ends tonight. Coach says we have to crank up the defense in the second half because Knicks all-star small forward Kenny Lassiter is torching us. Lassiter is my assignment defensively, so it’s already obvious what Coach is saying. Even so, he feels the need to drive home his point.
“Marcus, Lassiter has twenty-four points already. Think you can hold him to ten from here on out?”
My teammates look at me, waiting for my reaction. I’m pissed off at being singled out like that and start to lash out, but something holds me back. I stare at the Coach for a minute, then nod.
“I got him.”
As we take our warm-up shots before the second half, I have a sudden, clear-headed epiphany that what this current Lakers team needs is a leader. No matter how many points I score, we’re a mediocre team that often lacks direction on the court. And without a true leader, that’s how we’ll stay. I think of my dad and can almost imagine him smiling at my realization.
I buckle down defensively in the second half. As I continue to thwart Kenny Lassiter play after play, I see his frustration grow. That only makes me more determined and I stick to him like glue, making it impossible for him to get open for a shot. When we have the ball, I conserve my energy by only taking wide-open shots, passing the ball otherwise.
We win the game going away, limiting the vaunted Knicks offense to a scant eighteen points in the fourth quarter. Coach Madden asked me to hold Lassiter to ten points in the half. Instead, he misses every shot he takes in the second half and only gets three points, all on free throws. When the final buzzer sounds, my teammates and I all jump for joy on the dejected Knicks players’ home court.
The weirdest moment of all might be when I realize I’m hugging Demarius.
My final stat line for the night is the oddest of my NBA career: a mere twelve points, but eleven rebounds, eight assists, and career-highs seven steals and five blocked shots. Those are hardly the numbers of an offensive juggernaut, which is how I’m viewed around the league. The post-game interviews all compliment me on my defensive performance, and in the locker room Coach Madden puts his arm around me and hands me the game ball.
What the holy fuck is going on here?
When we return to LA, I see the real extent of us making the playoffs. The entire town is energized and the Lakers are the big topic of conversation everywhere. The day after the game, Jimmy Kimmel calls me personally and invites me to be on his show, an invitation I happily accept.
My segment on the show goes well. I’m dressed to kill and manage to be charming and funny. When Kimmel mentions my dad’s death, I tear up for a moment, then tell the audience that I’m dedicating these playoffs to his memory. It’s a touching moment that gets replayed on ESPN for the next few days.
I’m so busy that I only get to see Rashida once. She asks if I have time to take her to lunch, but my schedule doesn’t allow it, so instead I take both her and Jayden out for pizza. I reserve the restaurant’s private dining room, and the owner stops by personally to shake my hand and thank me for getting his team back into the playoffs. It’s almost embarrassing, but Jayden loves it. When we’re done, our server tells us that the manager says that comping our meal is the least he can do. As we step out of the restaurant, cameras flash everywhere—someone has obviously alerted the paparazzi to my presence. I’ve seen this before, but it’s more intense now that the Lakers are in the playoffs. It’s a strange situation for Rashida and Jayden to find themselves in.
Rashida and I have no time alone, save for a few minutes after she’s ordered Jayden to take a bath and get ready for bed. We kiss like fiends and I hold her tightly against me.
The chemistry between us continues to grow stronger throughout the week, even though our only contact is via text or phone.
Our first playoff game is Friday night against the Houston Rockets, who own the best record in the Western Conference this year. They’re a strong team and almost nobody gives us a chance against them. It’s a best-of-seven series, meaning the two teams will play until someone wins four games. Games one and two are in Houston, games three and four in Los Angeles. After that, we alternate for any other necessary games.
My defensive assignment is Gerald Mark
ins, the small forward from Duke. He was picked number one in the draft after mine, and established himself as a star right away. In his rookie year, Gerald was an All-Star and made the All-NBA team—almost unheard of for a first-year player. He’s bigger than me, but I’m quicker and faster and plan to give him grief.
The media circus gets bigger at each stage of the NBA playoffs, but it’s already crazy for round one. Many of our celebrity fans from LA are here to cheer us on. As we’re listening to final plans from Coach Madden before game one, I scan the crowd and my attention is snagged by a beautiful woman looking right at me from the second row at center court. I recognize her immediately; it’s Lexi Snow, the pop singer I’ve been crushing hard for since I was a senior in high school. I’d totally forgotten that Houston is her home town. She looks amazing, with her hair dyed silver and hanging perfectly straight to her shoulders. She’s wearing sunglasses and a shiny silver jacket over a scruffy white T-shirt and ripped jeans. Lexi fucking exudes charisma. Though we’ve never met, she smiles and waves in my direction. I just look back down at Coach’s clipboard, assuming she was waving at someone else. It’s impossible to tell with those sunglasses.
The Rockets blindside us and we’re down by fifteen at the end of the first quarter, then go on to get destroyed by thirty-two. They’re a playoff-tested veteran team and we’re the new kids on the block, thrilled just to be in the playoffs for the first time. Markins burns me for twenty-one points, even though I thought I covered him well. When the game ends, I look in the stands where Lexi had been and her seat is now vacant.
Two days later in the same arena, we play much better but lose again. I have another solid all-around game, but it’s not enough because Markins outplays me again. To make matters worse, Demarius is suddenly in a nasty shooting slump and we’re playing poorly as a team. Now we’ll go back to LA for the next two games, already in a hole.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Page 14