Between the Sheets (9781476775807)

by Cairo

  J-Smooth gets up from his seat and walks over to the huge picture window that overlooks the city that never sleeps. He stares out as his manager tries to persuade me to reconsider. He tries to convince me that his current situation is simply a minor misunderstanding between a passionate couple who loves hard, and fights harder.

  “MarSell, J’s been loyal to you. And…”

  “And MK Records has been more than loyal to him. But given these recent events, and with him now being dropped from his endorsement deals, it’s best we part ways.”

  J-Smooth turns from the window and sighs. “Man, this is fucked up. I don’t know why that bitch had to call the cops. None of this would be happening right now if Elena’s dumb ass woulda fell back. She knows how I am. She knows I wasn’t going to cut her throat or stab her. She blew shit way outta proportionate. We had an argument. Things got heated and got a little outta hand. That’s it.”

  I frown. “A little? You think? Man, do you hear ya’self right now? You pulled a blade on her! Threatened to slice her throat if she tried to leave you! Then went out a slashed all four of her damn tires!” I slap the back of my hand into my opposite palm as I speak. “You get arrested and charged with a domestic violence! Not once! Twice!”

  “I only slashed two tires,” he says, correcting me as if two slashed tires is better than four.

  I frown, rocking back and forth in my executive chair. This dumb muhfucka. “Okay, two. Big deal. The point is, you slashed her damn tires! And now you have a restraining order slapped on you! By yet another woman! There’s something wrong with this picture, man. And the one common thread in all this shit is you. I don’t know what sort of issues you have with women or how you deal with them, but that you can’t see that you have a problem is fuckin’ disturbing. You need help to get your shit together.”

  As J-Smooth makes his way back to the table, I have to fight the urge to stare at his lips and check myself for looking at him all crazy, wondering if he likes being spanked and fucked in the ass on the low.

  Word in the industry is his tongue game is fire. But his dick stroke falls short, real short. Not that that shit matters to a muhfucka like me since I wouldn’t be doing shit with his dick, any-fuckin’-way; except, maybe, grabbing it or jacking it off a few times.

  But, if the rumors are true, there isn’t shit these big-ass hands can do with a lil-ass short dick.

  Still, short-dick or not, J-Smooth’s a sexy-ass muhfucka to look at.

  Man, what the fuck is you doing? This isn’t the time to be tryna imagine what this muhfucka looks like stretched out butt-ass naked! Get ya mind outta this niggah’s drawz!

  I shift back into the soft leather of my chair. Then blink away the image of stretching open J-Smooth’s mouth with my dick.

  “Man, it’s all a big misunderstanding,” he says, pulling out the high-back chair next to me and taking a seat. “I can fix this, man. All I’m asking is for you to not give up on me.”

  I shake my head. Then lean back in my seat and casually cross my leg. Real talk, I dig J-Smooth. And I say this. I let him know this shit isn’t personal. It’s strictly business. And until he gets his mind right and starts moving right, he’s not welcomed here.

  There’s nothing else to be said. I’ve already wasted enough time on this bullshit.

  I stand, straightening my silk tie. “Well, gentleman. Unless either of you have something to say worthy of more of my time, I’m done. I have an important lunch meeting, and I—”

  J-Smooth scowls. “So that’s it? You just gonna dismiss me like I’m some random cat on the streets?” He pushes back in his chair, hard, standing; almost knocking the chair backward. “This is bullshit! Some real foul shit, man! And you know it! How you gonna just turn your back on me after all the records I’ve sold?”

  I sigh, smoothing a hand over my tie. “Look. I’m gonna ask you nicely to bounce before I call security and have you escorted outta here. Don’t let this get ugly, fam. Roll out ‘n’ go get ya shit together.”

  His manager tries to talk some sense into him. “C’mon, Jaquan, man. You’re already in enough mess. Let’s not add more insult to injury.”

  I pull my buzzing phone from out of my pocket. It’s a text from my assistant, Arianna, letting me know the front of the building is swarming with the paparazzi.

  I shake my head, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “You might wanna take the stairs and exit outta the back of the building. There are cameras out front. I’m sure waiting for you.”

  “I’m not running from them. I have nothing to hide.”

  His manager tries to dissuade him from flapping his gums to the press. To just fall back before he digs himself into another hole. But this muhfucka is a Know It All.

  I cock an eyebrow, shaking my head. “Suit ya’self.” I walk over to the door, then pull it open.

  J-Smooth stares me down, then reluctantly stalks toward the door. “Man, fuck this shit. I’m out.” He brushes by me as he walks out. I grit my teeth and fight to keep from punching him in the back of his muthafuckin’ head.

  • • •

  “Hey, baby, I say, leaning down and kissing Marika on the lips. She’s already seated at the sushi bar at Masa’s—a twenty-six-seat Japanese restaurant in the Time Warner Center with a $450 menu price per person, not including the two bottles of sake and tip. As pricey as this shit is, I dig this spot and how they change the omakase for every season. And watching Chef Masa do his thing is worth every penny.

  Marika smiles at me, then glances at her watch. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. How’d the meeting go?”

  I give her the condensed version then quickly change the subject, draping my arm on the back of her chair. “But enough about that. I don’t wanna talk about that dumb muhfucka. How was your morning?”

  “Busy. Spent my first half of the morning in an editors’ meeting, then the last half of it with publicity.”

  I smile, then lean in and kiss her on the neck. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

  “So are you.”

  I nuzzle my nose in her neck. “Damn, you smell good.” She’s wearing my favorite scent, Lolita Lempicka. Real talk, every time she wears this shit I wanna lick her up. I whisper in her ear, “You getting my dick hard, baby.”

  She playfully sucks her teeth. “Your dick stays hard.”

  “Ah. What can I say? You have that affect on me. I’m weak for you, baby. And so fuckin’ turned on by you.”

  I eye the chef as he grinds fresh wasabi root in front of us, then goes about the business of preparing our first fish dish. Each dish afterward becoming progressively more elaborate than the one before.

  Just as we’re finishing up our lunch, my cell rings. I pull it out, then glance at the screen and smirk. I show Marika who’s calling. She smiles, taking a sip of her sake.

  “Yo, what’s good, beautiful?”

  “Aaah, Marcel, mijn liefde. Uw stem maakt mijn kut nat.”

  I grin. “Je ne sais pas ce que la baise que vous venez de dire mais il ma bite dur.” I tell her I don’t know what the fuck she just said to me but it’s got my dick hard.

  Marika shakes her head, grinning.

  Nairobia gives a low, sexy chuckle. “I said, ‘my love. Your voice makes my pussy wet.’ ”

  “Just how we like it,” I say, glancing over at Marika. She meets my gaze and I wink at her. “Nice and wet.”

  “And I hope to have all of my wetness smeared all over your wife’s beautiful lips. Oh how I long to feel my aching clit throbbing against her greedy tongue and her fingers fucking into the folds of mijjn natte, sappige kut.”

  I fan my legs open, then shut as she talks about being fucked in her wet, juicy cunt with Marika’s fingers. “Oh, word? Is that all you wanna feel?”

  She moans, softly. “And your big black cock. Mmm. You know I love big dick, MarSell.”

  Nairobia’s freak-ass knows she can get this dick raw…whenever. In her neck, that is. Although, on some real shit. One tim
e I did fuck around and run this dick up in her without a condom. In the heat of passion, Marika and I were so caught up in the moment that we were on some crazy impulsive-type shit that night. But, I ain’t gonna front. That raw pussy was good as hell.

  But after the nut was popped, and all the freak-dust settled, Marika and I raced down to our doctor’s office to get tested. Even though we get tested every three months, and we only fuck with muhfuckas who get tested regularly too, that was some real scary shit. I was stressed out for almost a whole damn week waiting to hear back from the doctor with my results.

  “Yeah, I know you do, baby. So what’s good? You in the city?”

  “The day after next,” she says real low ‘n’ sultry. “And I will see you and Marika, no?” I tell her we’ll have to check our schedules, first. But more than likely we’ll be there. Marika eyes me, gesturing for me to hurry up off the phone.

  “But dig, baby,” I say, gliding a finger along the side of Marika’s cheek. “I’m out having lunch with my beautiful wife now. Why don’t I have Marika hit you up a lil’ later, aiight?”

  I tell Nairobia to hold on as Marika gestures for the phone. The two of them chat it up for several minutes with Marika pulling out her own phone, then scrolling through her calendar. I take a sip of my sake as Marika tells her so far she has nothing planned for Friday evening.

  Marika’s gaze settles over mine as she slips her hand down into my lap. Her hand slides along the inside of my thigh, along the length of my semi-hard dick. She squeezes the head. Then one corner of her sexy lips curls in a half smile. I settle back in my seat and wait for the call to end, grinning.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Marika

  Late in the afternoon one of my assistants cheerfully whisks into my office. “These just came for you,” Natalie says, her heels clicking against the wood floor.

  I look up from the manuscript I’m reading and smile. She’s carrying an exquisite large floral arrangement.

  “Oh, my. They’re beautiful.”

  “Yes, they are.” She breathes in the bouquet. “And they smell delightful. Looks like you have made someone very happy. Where would you like these?”

  “Sit them over there,” I say, pointing toward the Florence Knoll credenza centered in front of the window. “I wonder who they’re from.”

  “Oooh, let’s hope it’s a secret admirer,” she says plucking a small white envelope from the arrangement. She waves the card, grinning. “Ooh, lalalala. Look’a here.”

  Out of all my assistants, Natalie is my favorite. She’s intelligent, quick-witted, has lots of sass, style, and a splash of sophistication that most girls her age seem to lack. And aside from the fact that she’s a sexy piece of eye candy, she’s proven herself trustworthy over the three years she’s been with me.

  I take her in, admiring her flair for fashion. Today she’s wearing a vintage arc-hemmed, shoulder-baring flower power tunic dress that clings to her hips and C-cup breasts.

  “Save the secret,” I say, dismissively. “The only admirer I’m interested in is my husband. Hand over the card.”

  She sucks her teeth, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Oh, what a dream killer. Where’s the scandal in that? Here.” She pokes her lips out, sliding the card on my desk. “I’ll be at my desk,” she says, heading for the door.

  “Bye, Natalie,” I say cheerfully. She gives me a stiff beauty pageant wave. I shake my head, chuckling to myself. “Oh, you can leave the door open.”

  I eye her as she walks out, then pick up the card from my desk. A light feminine scent wafts out as I pull out the stationary note card. My brows draw close as I read the cursive that flows across the card in black ink.

  I still taste you on my lips. Still feel you deep in my ass. Thank you for making love to me like no other woman ever has. I’ll never forget it or you.

  —Anonymous

  I blink, blink again, then reread the note for a second time. I can’t believe this! How did she even know where to send this? Easy, fool. Look who you’re married to.

  I shake my head. I don’t want to make a big deal about the gesture. After all, the flowers are gorgeous. But this note card…what if Natalie or someone else from here had read it? Then what? Couldn’t this bitch simply written a simple “thank you” for the other night, instead of being so goddamn descriptive?

  I mean. Where the hell is the discretion in this?

  Better yet, how about not sending anything at all?

  Relax, Marika, girl. Don’t blow this out of proportion. It’s just a card and some flowers. Accept it for what it is and move on.

  Just as I’m pulling out my cell to call Marcel, Shayla buzzes me. “Lenora Samuels is on line two for you.”

  “Thanks,” I answer absently. Thoughts of this Anonymous chick start to take space in my mind. What if she’s a lunatic? What if this ho starts harassing us? What if she tries blackmailing us?

  The last thing Marcel and I need is drama.

  And that’s why you never, ever, fuck anyone who doesn’t have anything to lose.

  I shake the unnerving thoughts from my head for the moment, clearing my throat as I pick up the phone. “Hello. This is Marika.”

  “Marika, darling, Lenora Samuels here.”

  “Yes, how are you, Lenora? Forgive me for not getting back to you. Life has been ridiculously crazy.”

  “I’m fabulous darling. No worries. Now let’s cut through the cheese and get right down to the meat, darling. You know I have no time for idle chitchat. The manuscript. You’ve read it. And you loved it, no?”

  I can’t help but chuckle at her brashness. “Yes, of course I did. And I loved it. I actually forwarded it to Andrea.” Andrea is the senior editor for our erotica imprint. “She should be calling you in a few days to discuss an offer.”

  “Oh, fabulous. I’ll be going to the prison later this afternoon to share the news.”

  “Wait. I thought you said your client was released.”

  “Oh, yes. She was. But she’s had a minor slip-up.”

  I blink. “Minor as in what? A traffic violation?”

  “No, not exactly. She sort of violated her restraining order.”

  I frown. “Define sort of, please. The last thing I want is to sign someone to…who hasn’t been fully rehabilitated, or is mentally unstable.” I glance over at the floral arrangement, then down at the card on my desk. I still taste you on my lips. I flip the card over, cringing. “We don’t need that sort of publicity here.”

  “Oh, Marika, darling. Don’t go getting all Judge Judy on me. It’s simply a case of a broken heart. Heaven loves hard, that’s all. And she has a hard time letting go. And, yes, she’s a little extreme and, maybe, even a bit touched.”

  Translation: she’s fucking crazy!

  “Then again, passionate is more like it. But she means well. And she has, as you’ve read, one helluva juicy imagination.”

  “Well did she try to kill anyone, again?”

  “My goodness, no,” she says, sounding appalled. “Since her last incarceration, she’s against gun violence.”

  I dramatically roll my eyes. “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Yes. She stabbed her victim this time.”

  My mouth drops open. She says this Heaven chick violated her restraining order by trespassing onto her imaginary—because he was never hers—ex boyfriend’s property, then attacked his girlfriend, stabbing her in the chest and neck.

  I gasp, clutching my chest. “Ohmygod!”

  “So needless to say, she won’t be available for any book signings for a long while, unless she can sign from her cell.”

  Oh, she has got to be kidding me! I lean back in my chair and shake my head in distress. There is absolutely no way I can consider offering her a book deal in light of this new information. Then again…

  It had makings of a bestseller, girl.

  She probably won’t see a dime of it.

  That’s not your concern.

  I clear my throat. “You know,
I’m thinking maybe we should hold off on offering your client a contract until she’s—”

  “Now, now, darling. Let’s not be hasty.”

  I feel like saying, “Sweetie, being hasty is the bitch sitting behind bars.” I pick up my pen and repeatedly drum it against my desk, trying to wrap my mind around what I’ve been told. I can’t. It’s simply too much to digest.

  “I’ll tell you what. Let’s not lose focus here. How about I give you a call the middle part of next week?” she offers as if she’s trying to accommodate me.

  “Sounds great,” I say as Natalie pokes her head through the door and says in a low whisper so not to disturb my telephone conversation, “There’s a Marisol Rodriguez on line three for you. She says it’s personal.”

  I hold up an index finger and mouth, “Whoever she is, have her hold for a second.”

  She nods, backing out of my office.

  “Lenora, I hate to end our conversation, but I have another call. We’ll talk next week. Okay?”

  “Perfect darling,” she says, and hangs up.

  I click over to the third line. “Good afternoon, Marika Kennedy speaking.”

  “Hey, mami.”

  My pulse quickens. “Excuse me? Who’s this?”

  “Ooh, is that how you and that fine hunk of a man of yours do it? Bring someone back to your suite. Fuck them real good and filthy, then forget who they are?”

  I blink. “Anonymous?”

  “Yes, mami. Who else would it be? And before you get all spooked out. I promise you, mami, I’m not some nut case. I just want to make sure you got the flowers I sent. And to say, I’d love a repeat of last week’s mind-blowing performance.”

  Yes.” I frown, totally caught off guard while trying to keep my tone even, and my attitude from flaring up. “They’re lovely. But it really wasn’t necessary. Thank you.”

  “Oh, I know it wasn’t. I just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed—”

  “Listen, Marisol, or if that’s even your real name I—”

  She cuts me off. “No, you listen. Before you start getting all messy. Let’s meet for drinks tonight. I can be in the city around seven.”

  I blink. She can’t possibly be serious. “That’s not a good idea,” I say, calmly. “But thank you for the invitation.”