Darius’s eyelids fluttered. Glancing toward the door, he partially closed his eyes. Quickly he looked again. The woman in winter white he’d seen in the lobby took a seat beside him at the table. Ciara Monroe. A closer look in the well-lighted room confirmed that she wasn’t as stunning as the woman to his left. Long silky legs crossed under a short black tweed Scottish pleated skirt. White thigh-high boots with black laces. An alluring fragrance hovered about his nostrils, awakening his already starving sexual appetite. Almost twelve hours has passed since the last time Darius had had sex. That was ludicrous and far too long. Darius craved sex every day. Unbeknownst to the woman in black, if she was as horny as most of the busy businesswomen he’d met, his charm, fine dining, and a couple of martinis would invite him into her bed before midnight.
Shifting his thoughts, Darius bit his bottom lip. Damn, he should’ve gotten to the meeting sooner. Who were all those people? Darius’s eyes drifted toward Ciara. Another woman entered and sat beside her. Darius waited for but didn’t receive an introduction.
Ciara turned to the woman next to her and said, “Glad you could make it on such short notice. Thanks.” Slowly she leaned those huge breasts on the table, reached for a glass, and proceeded to fill it from the frosty pitcher of ice water.
“You move rather slow for someone with a nice athletic build,” Ciara said as her pierced tongue extended, curving under the rigid crystal rim, causing his saliva glands to overreact. Darius watched the water roll onto her tongue, over the silver ball, and disappear beyond her tonsils as she eased her neck back.
Damn, her mouth was pleasantly wide. Redirecting his blood flow, Darius replied, “Who, me?” One drop of water escaped her tongue and clung to her juicy glossy lips. Ciara suctioned the drop into her mouth. Darius fantasized her teasing his balls with her tongue then slurping the cum from his dick. If sex was his addiction, Darius had no plans to attend meetings or counseling.
A mischievous grin accompanied her mesmerizing hazel eyes that were the exact color as his mother’s. She didn’t blink or fluster. “Yes. You. Mister . . .”
Darius smiled at the sinister tone when she pronounced, Mis-ter. Overlooking her confident curtness, Darius replied, “Hey, what can I say. I’m immune to women who yell.” Darius despised women who attempted to belittle men. “Next time, to avoid getting a strike under my strike-three policy, try saying something sweet.”
Ciara sipped then whispered, “I am the sweetest.” Her wet tongue swept her upper lip. “Black.” Her tongue traced the water back to the other crevice. “Sexiest.” This time her tongue completed a full circle without losing a drip of fluid. Pouting, she perched her lips. “Sole owner and operator of Ciara Monroe Casting Agency and I’m about to spank your tender ass with my new contract. I don’t have to be sweet. I have a man because I want one, not because I need one. And you are not God’s gift to me. I’m God’s gift to you. Pray the black woman never gives up on you, brotha.”
Heads synchronized, turning toward them. Silence. Complete silence filled the room. Darius shifted in his seat to adjust his subsiding hard-on. “Casting?” She wasn’t a threat. Her casting company wasn’t even on his list. Maybe he’d hire Ciara if she improved her bad attitude. “Smart move to get in on the action early. But just so you’ll know,” Darius whispered, “no one spanks my ass without my permission.”
Sporadically, people resumed their conversations.
“Hum,” the woman in black said, lifting her brows in his direction. She peeped behind his back down to his butt. “May I?”
Have these successful sistahs no shame? Darius was definitely bumping her head against the headboard. Maybe she’d learn to use discretion. Darius focused on Ciara’s afro. Too masculine. Her stern demeanor accompanied a five-foot-five frame after subtracting three inches for her heeled boots. With so much clothes and a bad attitude, Darius couldn’t visualize Ciara nude. But those titties were so unbelievably swollen he had to bury his face in them at least once. If he could bite Ciara’s nipples right now while spanking her ass, he’d teach her how to be submissive. Please smile. Laugh. Do something to brighten up the atmosphere.
Ciara flipped open a shiny gold metal case and removed a pen. Darius frowned. Real diamonds and rubies? Couldn’t be. He stared. Yep, unlike the owner, the jewels were genuine. Ciara winked at Darius. The woman seated to his left uncrossed her legs, then rubbed her shoe against his shin. Hell, he’d almost forgotten about his fuck buddy for tonight. Easing his business card in front her, he said, “Hi, I’m Darius Jones.”
Her lips invitingly gapped wide enough for Darius to picture slipping in a finger or two. Women belonged in the bedroom, not the boardroom. Females were a constant distraction.
“Hum, um, um.” Candice’s attorney cleared his throat. “We’d like to thank each of you for coming.”
Darius thought, cumming. Coming. The women should go. Leave. Stop competing with men.
She whispered, “Crystal. My name is Crystal.”
Crystal. Lips. Water. Glass. Ciara. Titties. Darius nodded.
“Hum, um.” The attorney stared at Crystal then continued. “We’ve canceled the agenda this morning. Since most of you, as requested, submitted your proposals in advance, we made a selection this morning. We know the purpose of this meeting was to discuss the various proposals, however,” he paused, “after much consideration, we decided before the meeting to accept what we consider the most outstanding package. Truly impressive.”
What request? No one had asked Darius to submit his package in advance. Darius’s knees shoved the rolling chair backward. He had to win this contract. Darius stood tall. Holding his leather-bound papers high in the air, Darius confidently said, “You don’t want to make that decision final until after you’ve reviewed Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top’s proposal. Morris Chestnut is on his way. And he’s signed a commitment to accept the lead role.”
Oohs and ahhs filled the room. Leather against leather, Darius’s package swished across the table. “Top that.”
The attorney’s long black fingers restricted the pages’ movement. The attorney covered his mouth and started whispering in Candice’s ear.
What? Is Candice crazy? She’s shaking her head. Darius shook his head.
The lawyer continued as if no one had spoken a word. “Candice Morgan is proud to congratulate,” he paused then looked at Darius. The left side of Darius’s mouth curved. “Ciara Monroe Casting Agency is awarded the exclusive. Candice and I thank each of you and your lawyers for expressing interest.”
Darius’s mouth leveled. His eyes narrowed, barely leaving enough space to see Candice’s glowing face. Stupid. Dumb. Women. Wait until Darius told his mother about the pre-selection.
Candice beamed. Stood. “Thank you for your interest. I know you’ve dedicated lots of time in hopes to represent me. I’m writing another screenplay so there will be future opportunities. This meeting is adjourned. Ciara, I need you and your attorney to stay.”
Ciara happily replied, “Thank you, Candice,” then winked at Darius.
Darius firmly said, “Candice, I need to speak with you in private for a moment.”
“Sure, Darius. If you wait a few minutes. I need to speak with Ciara first. This won’t take long.”
Won’t take long. Who in the hell did Candice think she was talking to? Darius looked at Ciara. “Let me be first to congratulate you.” Begrudgingly he extended his hand to Ciara’s. “May I borrow your pen for a moment?” Darius stalled, praying Morris would walk through the door any moment.
“Thanks. I can tell you’re new to the movie biz. Give it some time youngster, you’ll find your niche. It took me four years before I decided to specialize in casting. This industry is very political. I’m so excited. This is my first major deal. And it’s sad but true. I still have to demand respect from my male counterparts. Can you believe that? This is my good-luck pen. My parents gave it to me specifically for signing this contract. This priceless hand-crafted gem has been in our family for
generations,” she said, carefully sliding the pointed tip between Darius’s long fingers. “I don’t know why I’m trusting you. But I am.”
Trading stares over their shoulders, Ciara and her attorney watched Darius. Darius wrote a few frivolous notes as Candice said, “Ms. Monroe,” motioning for Ciara to come closer, “I’d like to introduce you to my attorney. The two of you will work closely with Mr. Brentwood.”
Walking toward Candice, Ciara turned, and then winked at Darius.
Yeah, she was interested in a brotha. Maybe Darius would have Ciara in his bed tonight instead of Crystal. Bad idea. Fuck Crystal tonight. Save Ciara for later. Darius ignored Ciara’s wink as she made her way to the opposite end of the room.
Ciara smiled wide, flashing all her pearly white teeth, then said, “Mr. Brentwood, your reputation proceeds you. Congratulations on winning the Pickle case.”
Good networking. Darius observed how Ciara was apprised of his background. Or perhaps Candice prepped Ciara before the meeting. Women. Always plotting and planning.
Mr. Brentwood laughed hysterically in harmony with Ciara, her attorney, and Candice.
Darius slipped the pen inside his jacket pocket, closed the case, placing it in Ciara’s view, and then quietly tipped out of the room. He’d call Candice later to arrange his private meeting. Without her pen, Ciara would have to contact him eventually.
Darius drove back to his office. What did Ciara know about the industry that he didn’t? She must have had a staff of men prepare her contract. If Candice wouldn’t change her mind, how would Darius get next to Ms. Monroe and steal her contract before the ink dried? He still had the best actor for the part and Candice knew it. Ciara wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and he had her family’s precious little pen. The one thing Darius knew well, was women. No matter how successful, every woman needed a man. Or at least a good dick. He’d have to use Kimberly to seduce Solomon in Ciara’s presence, then make Ciara his woman.
How could Darius have Ashlee at his house and take advantage of Ciara at the same time? Ashlee had to go. Darius parked on the black asphalt lot behind his office building in the space marked PRESIDENT. He turned off his engine, dialed information, then programmed the number for Ciara Monroe Casting Agency into his cellular.
Darius entered his office building through the rear, hurried up the stairway to his office, and called Ashlee. “What time is our reservation?”
Ashlee gasped. “Oh, no. You didn’t get the contract. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ll explain over lunch. But after lunch you’ve got to go home. I need to be alone.” Darius placed Ciara’s pen on his desk.
“That’s rude, Darius. But I need to go home anyway. I do have a job.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Picking up the pen, a closer look revealed the stones were fake. Man-made rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. That was okay. He’d play Ciara’s game. “It’s not the job you should have. You know I want you to run my finance department. Seriously. So,” Darius emphasized, “on your way home, I want you to think about my job offer.”
“Darius, are you okay? You know when things bother you, you have a tendency to hold them in.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll think about accepting your offer. But if I do, I have to find a place to live.”
“Nonsense. You already have a place to live. With me. I insist. I gotta go. I’ll see you in a few.”
Ashlee knew Darius well. But talking to her about his problems wouldn’t help resolve his issues. Darius needed time to think. Not talk.
CHAPTER 6
Ciara Monroe wasn’t the prettiest woman but her sharp wit, big tits, confidence, voluptuous lips, and financial security attracted some of the finest men in the world. Roaming around her quaint Brentwood house, Ciara debated with her only sibling, Monica, who owned a contemporarily decorated home next door but spent most of her spare time at Ciara’s place.
Ciara talked openly to Monica about everything from dollars to dicks but what Ciara enjoyed most about her older sister was Monica’s candor.
Sitting in her cozy lavender oversized—too big to be a chair, too small to be a chaise—seat across the living room from Monica, who was stretched horizontal on the plum-colored couch, Ciara lamented, “Sis, the more money I make, the more I attract these fine-ass, broke-ass, act-like-they-can-give-me-the-world type men that I end up taking care of.”
Maybe if Ciara were less independent and stopped feeling as though she had to pick up the tab or deal with men—wealthy, middle class, or Hollywood wannabe actors in between jobs—chasing her ass or acting as though they were entitled to some gratuitous pussy, Ciara could chill and let a man be the man and pay the bills. But her father had taught Monica and her not to submit. “If a man can’t deal with my daughters being successful black women who own and run their own businesses, then y’all don’t need ’im.” Daddy was partially correct. But Ciara needed a steady sperm donor in her life. One with a strong back, a big dick, and lots of stamina. The three-bedroom house. The Mercedes S600, G55, and CLK 55 AMG convertible. Traveling abroad twice a year. That was the easy part Ciara handled herself.
Ciara was always more popular than Monica. Ciara had countless associates, the majority of them males. A few ex-men were sprinkled amongst the group. Those were the ones suitable to fulfill her womanly needs while she was between relationships or when Ciara required a last-minute escort to private functions.
Growing up, Ciara’s mother had preached, “The only true friends the two of you have are each other. Everyone else is an acquaintance. And you shrewdly determine how well acquainted. Never tell anyone all of your business. And never reveal anything personal. If you wouldn’t say it on national news, then don’t say it at all. If you have to disclose a secret, tell one another and no one else. Ever.”
Now, Monica replied, “I told you you can’t handle dating a man who’s successful before you meet him. You can make a millionaire but you can’t marry one. If Solomon didn’t depend on you, you wouldn’t want him. You’ve been like that since high school.” Five-foot-six and a perfect size nine wearing low-rise jeans, Monica stretched her long legs, flexed her bare feet then said, “I sure could use a pedicure. Remember that senior, what’s his name that played—”
Ciara sipped her brandy. “Yeah, yeah. I bought his basketball shoes—”
“Yeah. And his warm-ups, and his sweat suits, and anything else he asked you for.” Monica’s brandy and cigarette balanced in one hand. “Then you’d complain to me and turn around and buy him some more stuff. And he still ended up getting some other girl pregnant.”
“Sis, we were sixteen. I was working and he wasn’t. Better her than me single parenting a baby that’s half my age. That’s crazy. And besides, it’s only money. I can’t take it with me and as of right now I don’t even have an heir.” Kids, two or maybe three, were part of Ciara’s future plans. But having a husband was definitely a prerequisite.
“So, what’s your point? You’re thirty-two. Divorced twice. On the verge of a third. I hope by now you’ve learned a lesson. Before you say ‘I do,’ get to know the guy first. That’s one plus for Solomon: he’s been around a couple of years. And no, you don’t have any kids. But that still doesn’t mean you have to spend your money on men. Spend some of that money on me. My house needs a new roof. And I could use a new Prada purse.”
Engagements were a waste of Ciara’s time. What was the point in waiting a year or two or forever? To save money? Ciara had money. To decide if love was true or to wait for someone to make a mistake to call off the engagement? Who really knew the person they were marrying, until after they said “I do?” Ciara learned that a marriage certificate empowered and altered the partner who brought less—income, savings, property, possessions—to the union. Men changed like women changed.
The tip of Ciara’s tongue poked between the upper gap in her teeth. “In case you’ve forgotten, sweetheart, I just took you to Venezuela. Remember?”
>
“And I took you to Amsterdam,” Monica replied, bucking her almond-shaped walnut-colored eyes.
“See, that’s pathetic. We’re dating one another. You don’t have a man and I have half of a man. Kind of.” Ciara sank deeper into the cushion.
“I don’t need a man. I can have one any time I choose. I could have Solomon if I wanted him. That’s how trifling he is. But you can’t see his shortcomings because his dick keeps poking you in the eyes.”
Poking. Stroking. Forget Monica’s manless butt. As long as Solomon provided sex on the regular, Solomon’s big dick kept Ciara a very happy virtually stress-free woman. Ciara pressed her lips together, unsuccessfully trying to hold in her laugh. “Girl, you crazy.”
“You know it’s true.” Monica laughed.
“Well, that’s all about to change. And don’t think I missed your remark. I’m thirty-one. I’ll be thirty-two on Martin Luther King’s birthday and I promise you Solomon will be history before then.”
“In less than two weeks. Yeah, right. What happened to ‘I’m not taking my relationship with Solomon into the New Year’?”
“I was not showing up at a New Year’s Eve party without a date. Trust me. Solomon is on his way over and in fact, I’m not going to wait. I’m going to terminate this relationship as soon as he gets here.”
Damn, the way Solomon worked his magicstick was sinful. Fuck him first. Dump him afterward. Solomon’s muscular biceps. Triceps. Flat stomach with an inner navel that had a slightly darker line that led down to his luscious thick dick. Six-feet-four inches. Weighing two-hundred thirty-seven pounds, Solomon had easily swept Ciara off her feet. Ciara fanned herself and patted her breasts.
“Look at cha. Your pussy is drippin’ just thinking about him.” Monica pointed. “And look at your nipples.”
“Sis, these used to be introverted, now super protruding nipples, are courtesy of Solomon constantly tightly twirling these babies between his thumb and pointing finger before and during sex. Thank you very much.” Ciara bowed in her seat.
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