Between the Sheets (9781476775807)
Page 30
“You have a beautiful body, and are exceptionally well-endowed. How many inches is that beautiful piece of man meat?”
“Thirteen, hard.” Yeah, when the muhfucka could get hard.
She gasps, sliding a hand along the column of her neck, then over her breast.
“Where are you from?” she wants to know.
Why the fuck I didn’t I bring my iPad and earphones?
I tell her New York. She tells me she’s originally from Atlanta, but has lived in Germany with her husband—who’s British, for the past five years.
“Oh, aiight.”
I take another sip of my drink, then set the glass back down. I feel the alcohol slowly heating my insides. It’s been a minute since I’ve tossed back a drink. With all that’s popped off, I was afraid I’d end up becoming a full-fledged drunk if I’d taken to the bottle like I’d wanted and drank my sorrows away.
I choke back my emotions, turning my head so that this beauty eyeing me doesn’t see that I’m on the verge of tears. It’s so fuckin’ hard to live life knowing the one you thought you’d spend the rest of your life living, loving and enjoying it with is gone.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, feeling as if I’m being suffocated, as if the life is being sucked out of me.
Then there are times when I get so overwhelmed with grief that I break down and start crying, balling like a fuckin’ baby, because I’m fuckin’ hurting. Other times, I’m consumed with guilt. Replaying that night over and over in my head. Blaming myself for Marika’s death. Wondering if there was something I could have done, or said—or maybe something I did or said that I shouldn’t have—that would have saved her life.
Sixteen years, gone! I wish those bullets would have been for me, then I wouldn’t be here suffering in loneliness and filled with so much pain. Why’d she have to leave me here on this earth without the love of my life?
Marika fuckin’ loved me. All of me. Every fuckin’ stretch of my naked flaws, she loved, and accepted…unconditionally. And she allowed me to be me. No judgment. No ridicule. She simply got it. She understood the kind of man I am.
We had no secrets.
We were able to express ourselves freely. Explore our sexualities openly. She delighted in keeping the heat turned up in the sheets. There were no inhibitions. That shit didn’t exist for us.
Now what?
I don’t know if I will ever find that kind of love again. Or ever have the kind of openness Marika and I shared with another woman. Not that I’m looking. It’s too soon for me to even consider it. I’m still too broken. Still…
I stare out into the Caribbean Sea. Reflect on my life, with and without Marika.
For the first time in my life, I’m so fuckin’ lonely.
Yeah, I can get pussy. Yeah, I can get neck. But I can’t ever get back the one thing that has always mattered the most—Marika’s love.
I take several deep breaths, then exhale. Somehow, I have to accept life as it is, trusting that everything happens for a reason; that this is where I’m supposed to be…today.
I close my eyes briefly, and when I reopen them, I can feel her eyes on me. I turn to her, catching the lust in her stare as her eyes roam my body. Something else flickers in her eyes, when she smiles, and says, “My husband and I saw you earlier laying out on the beach.” Her voice is low and sexy. “And we’ve been eyeing you all week.”
“Oh, word? What, y’all swingers or something?”
“No, not really. We try not to live our lives defined by labels. We’re what you’d call, free-spirited.”
“Oh, aiight. Uninhibited.”
“Yes, exactly.” She swipes a strand of hair from her face. “I wish more people were so.”
I grin. “True. I feel you. So, y’all like to get it in.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” She lowers her voice. “Every now and then, we like to let our hair down, while we’re on vacation, and express ourselves sexually. We love beautiful people. Men and women with hot bodies and…delicious packages.”
Code: We’re special kind of freaks.
“Oh, word?”
I feel my dick slowly starting to stir.
The lust in her gaze is starting to awaken the beast.
I want some pussy. Nah, I need that shit. Some juicy pussy with a side order of wet mouth and tight neck, followed by a long, wet tongue sliding over this asshole.
I feel my balls starting to heat. “So, y’all tryna fuck,” I boldly say, staring at her peaked nipples. My mouth starts to water.
“We’d definitely love to have you join us back at our villa for a night of naughty fun, if you’re open to it.”
I eye her, reaching for my dick and slowly stroking it. “You lick ass?”
She licks her lips. “Love it.”
“You think you can handle this dick?”
She stares at it. Admires it. I can see the wheels in her head spinning with fantasies. “My husband is eight inches. What’s five more inches? I’d love to come trying.”
“Oh, aiight.”
I glance down at my stretching dick, feel it coming alive.
True, I’m missing my wife. But I’m still a man. And I have needs. I have desires. And wants. And right now, my dick’s come alive and I’m horny as fuck. And these balls are aching for release. I have six months of nut backed up in me.
A few moments pass between us.
I turn to her once more, inhaling her sweet scent. “Yo, ya man suck dick?”
She stares at me, unblinking. A sly smile slowly eases over her lips.
“Oh, that can definitely be arranged.”
My dick rocks up, hard ‘n’ ready. And I take this as a sign.
I glance up at the bright, blue sky and smile, wiping a lone tear that slides down my face. Marika filled my life with so much joy. But, I have to move on. And there seems to be no better time than the present. Between the sheets, lost in the warmth of a tight, wet pussy…and a warm, juicy mouth.
IF YOU ENJOYED “BETWEEN THE SHEETS,” WE INVITE YOU TO ENJOY A TASTE OF
BY CAIRO
AVAILABLE NOW FROM STREBOR BOOKS
Prologue
Remorse and guilt don’t exist in an empty heart…
I wasn’t born a killer.
And I hadn’t initially planned on becoming one. I had hoped that if I had to murder anyone, Jasper would be first on my list. Not Felecia. Not my flesh and blood.
But here I am.
In the flesh.
A killer.
A murderer.
Still clutching the gun in my hand, I stare into Felecia’s dead face. Her eyes wide and frozen in fear, her curled lashes still wet with tears, what’s left of her bloody mouth is gaped open, front teeth cracked and knocked out, smoke still floating out of her lying dick suckers. I feel a surging rush of adrenaline pumping through me, yet I feel nothing—for her, for what I have done. I am numb to this, to her current state. Slumped over and lifeless. In a flash, Felecia, along with every mental snapshot—an entire lifetime of memories—of everything we’ve ever shared, gone. Her last breath snatched by the bitch she tried to do in. Me.
By choice.
I stare at the gun in my bloody hand, then look up toward the ceiling as if expecting the roof to open up at any moment, to only get struck by a bolt of lightning. This bitch betrayed me. She hurt me. She disrespected me. She fucked me over. And she fucked my man. Regardless of whether it’s over between Jasper and me or not, this bitch fucked him, sucked him, while things with him were good—even if they were only in my own head. And the bitch continued fucking him on the sly—after shit between him and me went downhill.
So I killed her.
By choice.
Because I wanted her dead! Because she deserved to be dead! Because she ran her mouth and popped shit.
Sadly, I feel not one ounce of sorrow. No regret. No remorse. No guilt. Nothing. And no goddamn tears.
I’ll admit
. Killing this bitch wasn’t my initial intention. No. I planned on confronting her, allowing her the chance to confess, to redeem herself—not that anything that came out of her cum trap was going to change the damage already done. She and I would never be close again. Then I was going to slip out of my heels and beat her ass real good. However, somewhere in the back corners of my mind, I knew it was a slight possibility that I would take it to her skull—not with my fist, with a bullet—if the bitch came at me sideways and crazy.
And she did.
The more she tried to lie and deny her way out of shit, the stronger the urge became. The more reckless she talked, the deeper my conviction became. Then the bitch had the audacity to tell me she was pregnant. The admission of who planted his nut in her became scribbled in the fear shown in her eyes. It was Jasper.
So, for that, I took her life. There was no blackout. There was no lack of judgment. There was no temporary moment of insanity. I didn’t just get caught up in the moment. I was clear and in my right frame of mind when I reached in back of me and pulled out my 9mm, shoving it down into her motherfucking throat.
And I was fully cognizant of the look in her eyes when I pulled the trigger.
I am still very much aware of what I’ve done. I’ve murdered her.
And the scary thing is—standing here taking in the splattered blood on the walls and the loose teeth knocked out of her big-ass mouth—I know, deep down in the pit of my soul, I am very much certain, I’ll have no problem doing it again, if I have to, when I have to…if I am forced to.
Bitch wanted to be me. Thought she was going to snatch my spot. I’m convinced she wanted me dead. Wished it. Hoped for it. Shit, the bitch admitted she didn’t give a fuck. That she didn’t care then. And damn sure didn’t care now. I’m glad I didn’t allow her up to the hospital to hover over my bed, secretly gloating that she’d had a hand in doing me in while I clung to my life, and sanity.
I glance over at the clock: 10:38 P.M. Then step away from her body. I walk into the bathroom and wash off the blood on the gun and my hands, carefully drying them. Then I wash my face, glancing up from the sink at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. I don’t like what I see.
I don’t even know who I see.
The bitch staring back at me has my face, my complexion, my hazel eyes. But she is still a stranger to me. I don’t like her.
I don’t like me.
But this is who I am.
This is what I’ve become.
Thanks to Jasper.
Thanks to Felecia.
Thanks to every motherfucker who took his turn at fucking my throat raw.
I flip off the light and walk back out into my office over to my desk and pull out one of the burner phone’s Lamar had given me, then place a call. “Who this?”
“Pasha.”
“Oh, what’s good? You still need that remodeling work done?”
“Yes. I’m ready for that paint job,” I say, unlocking and opening my office door, then walking into the staff lounge, going over to the counter and pulling out the top drawer. I grab a steak knife, then shut the drawer. “And I need the carpet pulled up and tossed along with all the dead weight in the room.”
“Oh, aiight.”
He understands, clearly. She’s dead. He’s the only person I told about my meeting with her tonight here. The only person who I let know things might get ugly between us. He was the only person I let hear the extent of my rage toward her. And when I told him out of anger that I felt like killing her ass, he said, “Then maybe she should catch it. What she did was some real grimy shit. You didn’t deserve that. So, whatever you decide, I’ma ride it out with you. Real shit, ma, I know that’s ya fam ‘n’ all, but I think you should handle her.”
He said it with no expression, no emotion. Then leaned into my ear and whispered, “I have a professional cleanup crew in case… things get bloody. I can get you a piece that won’t ever trace back to you. You won’t have to do anything except pull the trigger.”
He walked me through it. Told me to make sure to turn off the security cameras just in case I decided to handle her—permanently, so no one would see her coming in if anyone were to ever ask to see any footage. Not that they would have reason to. But I needed to be three steps ahead. He told me to be sure to meet with her in my office, where it’s soundproofed. Then handle my business.
“Right after you pop her top, hit me up and I’ll handle everything else. I specialize in these kinds of jobs. Security work is my other gig.” Without him saying more than that, it was evident at that very moment that there was a whole lot more to my armed-security stud. “You wanna rid ya’self of a poisonous snake before it has a chance to strike again, chop off its head.”
The seed had been planted. Her slick mouth sealed her fate.
Hate me? Bitch, please!
There is no room in my life for snitches and snakes. Felecia really thought she’d reap some hefty reward by snaking me. Thought she had snatched her the door prize, along with a quick come-up by backstabbing me. Ha! I showed that bitch. She couldn’t have possibly thought she’d get away with it. She almost did.
Almost.
But getting caught happens to the best of us. Eventually she would have to pay her dues. It was only a matter of time. And, tonight, her time had come.
It’s over. When I walk out of here tonight, I will go home, grab a bottle of wine, run a bubble bath, then soak away any memory of tonight. Then I am going to pop two sleeping pills and sleep the rest of the night away free from any chance of being plagued with nightmares of what I’ve done. And, before the crack of dawn, I will wake up with a smile plastered on my face. Catch my flight to Los Angeles to spend the day with my son. Catch the red-eye flight back. Then Tuesday morning, bright and early, I will step up in my salon, facing the day with the same renewed purpose. To shut down everyone else who had a hand in hurting me.
And I will go on with my life as if nothing ever happened tonight. As if I hadn’t laid eyes on this bitch in almost two weeks. I will pretend she never existed. As if, minutes ago, I’d never pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in the back of her head.
I grab a pair of latex gloves, then the toolbox from under the cabinet and take out a wrench and a pair of pliers, then place the toolbox back in its place.
“Oh, aiight. You still there?”
I walk back into my office. “Yes.” He already knows where to park his trucks. Around the back of the building as we discussed. He knows to enter through the emergency exit door on the side of the building where the staff lounge is. I snap my fingers, suddenly remembering something. Yes, that’s exactly what I need. A large bag of ice and a cooler. I pull out the key to my storage closet, unlocking it, then taking out what I need. One last piece to finish this bitch off…
Cairo is the author of Ruthless, Retribution, Slippery When Wet, Big Booty, Man Swappers, Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang, Deep Throat Diva, Daddy Long Stroke, The Man Handler, and The Kat Trap. His travels to Egypt inspired his pen name.
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
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ALSO BY CAIRO
Ruthless
Retribution
Slippery When Wet
The Stud Palace (original e-book)
Big Booty
Man Swappers
Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang
Deep Throat Diva
Daddy Long Stroke
The Man Handler
The Kat Trap
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2015 by Cairo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-594-9
ISBN 978-1-4767-7580-7 (ebook)
LCCN 2014943295
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition February 2015
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Keith Saunders Photos
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