The Rolexxx Club - Anniversary Edition

by Meta Smith

  Desiree obliged. K.G.’s penis saluted her as she stepped into the steamy spray, her magnificent body on full display. He kissed her, maneuvering her under the stream of tepid water.

  Men always have the water too cold, Desiree mused, frowning and slightly

  shivering as the water pelted her frame.

  “You cold?” he growled as he palmed her breast. “A little,” Desiree admitted.

  “Then let me warm you up.”

  He turned the water up a notch, wincing slightly from the rise in temperature, but if Desiree wanted it hot, he was bringing the fire. He grabbed the miniature bar of soap and used his hands to soap her body. Desiree writhed beneath his touch. K.G. had strong hands, his strokes confident. K.G. nibbled and sucked at her erect nipples until she moaned with pleasure, her body arching instinctively toward him. K.G. worked his way between Desiree’s thighs.

  Desiree was afraid she would fall. Her body tensed up.

  “I got you, baby girl. Just let go. Let go.” K.G. held her firmly as he spread her legs apart. Water sloshed and splashed about as he ate her. Desiree had no fear now as she pulled his head closer. She was on the brink of climaxing when K.G. abruptly pulled away.

  “You want more?” he asked, staring at her intensely. “Yes,” Desiree groaned.

  “Tell me,” he ordered as he teased her clit with his tongue.

  “I want more! Please! Don’t stop!” Desiree bucked her hips, begging

  K.G. to end the torture.

  “In Spanish!” he demanded.

  “Ay, papi! Te quiero! Por Favor! Dame más!” she pleaded. K.G. relented and brought her to a massive orgasm with his tongue. Desiree’s body shook and trembled as she screamed in ecstasy. K.G. didn’t stop licking until she begged him to stop.

  He led her to the bed and bent her over it. Desiree would have loved to get fucked doggy-style long and hard, but she knew that wasn’t on K.G.’s agenda. She braced herself and forced out a long breath as he entered her anally. Men always had to go and fuck up a good thing! K.G. rarely lasted more than two minutes, and sometimes went soft from vaginal sex, but he fucked like an animal when he fucked her up the butt.

  Desiree tried to disconnect herself from her body and just go through the motions. K.G. was the only person she ever let do her that way, and only after he’d paid her rent for the next year. But Desiree couldn’t zone out because K.G. kept talking to her and asking her questions.

  “Gimme that ass!” he barked as he plunged deep inside of her. “You gonna give it to me?”

  “It’s yours!” she responded with fake enthusiasm. “Tell Daddy you like that dick,” he ordered.

  “Oooh, I love it!” she squealed for his benefit. But Desiree refused to call any man Daddy. K.G. didn’t notice the omission, though. He was too busy getting his rocks off. Desiree moaned and groaned like he was the porn star Mr. Marcus, all the while hoping that he would hurry up and finish. Thankfully, her noises encouraged him, and K.G. was soon shivering from his own climax. Desiree would never understand how a man could get off by doing her in the booty. It made her wonder if K.G. swung both ways. Because Desiree didn’t care how thuggish a man was, she believed that men who dug anal sex had a little bit of bitch in them. Why else would they want to sex her like she was another dude?

  K.G. removed himself from Desiree’s ass and collapsed on the bed beside her. Within no time she heard him snoring, so she eased out of bed and hit the shower once more. This time she ran the water scalding hot, but it would have to burn the flesh right off her bones before it was ever hot enough to make Desiree feel clean.

  CHAPTER 13

  D

  ESIREE STEPPED OUT OF THE LOBBY OF THE DELANO and into the heat armed with her very own Platinum American

  Express card. K.G. told her it was her birthday gift. It came with the warning that she was all his now and that she had no use for other niggas. He also told her he wanted her to start thinking about what she was going to do after she quit modeling. Desiree told him she had no intention of quitting, but decided against telling him her other aspirations. He told her he was going to marry her and naturally she’d have children. Desiree wondered if he was serious, but she had put in work to earn that credit card, and for now she was going to enjoy it. She’d simply cross that marriage bridge if and when she came to it. Still, the situation with K.G. made her a tad bit uneasy. The gesture was extravagant, so it made her wonder what his angle was. He had to have motives.

  Maybe he really thought he was in love. That morning he’d managed to fuck her the regular way. He insisted on looking her dead in the eyes the whole time, even when he kissed her. It was like he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d told her that he loved her as he came. Desiree ignored the comment, but he told her again as he held her in his arms afterward. He wished her a happy birthday in advance and told her how excited he was about their trip to the V.I., that he had something special for her. He ordered room service and fed her breakfast in bed before cutting out to his

  “meeting” around 11 a.m.

  It had been a long night, and her butt felt raw and dug out. She wondered if she was walking funny or if anyone could tell she’d been fucked up the ass. All she wanted to do was take a long, hot bath, curl into her king-size bed, and sleep. She didn’t even have the energy to shop. Downstairs the doorman stared at her cleavage, encased in the tight Prada dress she had worn the previous evening, as he opened the cab

  door.

  “Do you want it, or is it free?” Desiree quipped as the doorman ignored her outstretched hand holding a five-dollar bill. She was trying to be generous, and this fool was staring at her tits.

  “G-gracias,” the doorman stammered as he shook out of his stupor to accept his tip. He gave her a pathetic little grin. She contemplated snatching her money out of his grubby little hand. She despised it when men ogled her for free.

  Desiree decided to be nice and let him keep the tip; after all, it was almost her birthday. And she considered the week of her birthday “Make Desi Happy Week.” The credit card made her happy. She ran her fingers over the embossed letters of her entire name: Desiree Mirabella Torres Jackson. How did he know her whole name when she’d never told it to him? She went by Desiree Jackson, and usually just Desiree or Dez. She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged it off. Mitten Enterprises was printed beneath her name. She wondered what it was but was distracted by the thought of Bentley. She was glad K.G. was gone; that way she’d have nothing standing between her and the man she really wanted. Working with Bentley was going to be the icing on her birthday cake.

  Desiree loved the sound of bills being counted. It almost made her wet. There was just never enough! With her freshly French-manicured fingertips, she rifled through the assorted Benjamins and Jacksons she kept in her bedroom safe. Then she placed her jewelry and the credit card in with her stash. Desiree was paranoid about home invasions and robbery, so she never kept valuables out in plain view. She punched in the security code to her alarm system as she always did when she was in the house alone. Then she took a Tylenol PM and went to sleep.

  When she woke up, Desiree ordered Chinese food and then checked her two-way pager for new messages. There was one from K.G. telling her he loved her and missed her. There was one from her manager telling her she’d scored the lead in Bentley’s music video. Jackpot! There was also one from her sometimes friend, sometimes enemy Leilani telling her about a

  private party. She dialed Leilani.

  “What’s up, girl! Where you been?” she greeted.

  “K.G. came into town for a minute, so I kicked it with him last night.

  I was tired, so I just slept today,” Desiree explained.

  “I heard you got the Bentley video. Congratulations!” Leilani offered, cutting her off.

  “How’d you hear?” Desiree asked her, surprised.

  “I’m working it. I just found out today. One of the P.A.’s pulled out at the last minute.”

  Leilani and Desiree met
a year before on the set of a video. Leilani had once been a popular model and parlayed her connections into several gigs behind the scenes. She said she was going to be a director, but Desiree couldn’t picture it happening. She didn’t know why anyone would stop being a model to be a nobody, the lowest-paid person on the totem pole. P.A.’s couldn’t even make any decisions except for “Should I kiss the right ass cheek or the left one first?” If Leilani was smart, she’d use her looks to find a man to buy her a movie of her own.

  Leilani Hong Thomas was definitely not a worker bee. She was spoiled and had never really had to work in her life because her parents had money. At twenty-six she could have easily kept modeling because she looked very young. Chinese-Jamaican, with creamy mocha skin, waist-length ebony hair, and deep brown, almond-shaped eyes, Leilani was pure eye candy. But she gave it all up, claiming it was time to move on. She said that she wanted to be respected for her mind. As long as you had a nice pair of tits, no man was going to even notice if you had a mind or not, but Desiree never tried to convince her to keep modeling. She was competition, and stiff competition at that.

  “You’re really trying to do that directing shit, huh?” Desiree asked. She didn’t know why anyone as pretty as Leilani would want to work. All she had to do was find a rich husband. It wouldn’t be hard for her. It amazed Desiree that some people who had it so easy always wanted to make things more difficult than they needed to be.

  “Yeah, girl. I can’t shake my ass forever. I didn’t go to college for nothing.” Now, that’s the problem with Leilani, Desiree thought. She always has to go and say something slick, like she’s better than someone else.

  “Yeah, but you tryin’ to shake your ass tonight, ain’t you?” Desiree replied sardonically. Fuck all that bullshit Leilani’s spittin’. She ain’t ready to stop chilling with the celebrities. She’s just trying to cover her motives. Leilani was as big a gold digger as Desiree. Bigger, if that was possible. But the difference between them was that Leilani was always fronting like she wasn’t.

  “You know it! Bentley and them are having a party at that new spot, Babylon. I got us on the list,” Leilani said.

  “Cool,” Desiree said nonchalantly. She didn’t want to give Leilani the satisfaction of seeing her geeked up about something. Leilani already thought she was the shit; she didn’t want her acting any worse. Plus, Desiree hated it when Leilani was more in the loop than she was. It just made her go on and on about how she was being taken seriously as an aspiring director. Right! Like anyone really cared or was paying attention to the way she delivered coffee! Desiree couldn’t wait until her career as a rapper took off so she could shut Leilani up, but for the time being she would keep hanging with her and use her connections to meet the right executives and go to the right parties, just in case things with Bentley didn’t go according to plan. Desiree liked to be two steps ahead of the game.

  “He’s a cutie, isn’t he?” Desiree changed the subject before Leilani could start bragging about her job.

  “Who, Bentley? Yeah. I wouldn’t mind hooking up with him. Maybe I’ll have a chance at the video.”

  “Stand in line, girl,” Desiree remarked, thinking to herself that Leilani didn’t have a shot in hell. She was too little too late. Bentley had already made it crystal clear that he was checking for her. Besides, Bentley was more her speed. Leilani wouldn’t know what to do with that. He was too street for her.

  “What are you wearing?” Desiree asked as she walked with the cordless phone across her spacious bedroom to her walk-in closet.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you when I’m on the way, though. Around 11:30,” Leilani said before hanging up the phone.

  Desiree smiled as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length, trifold mirror in her dressing room. Actually, it was just a space in the back of her walk-in, but Desiree swore that when she made it big, her new diva crib would have a dressing room just like all the Hollywood stars had. She located the outfit she’d been saving for a night like tonight, a night when she needed all eyes on her with no exceptions; the most important set of eyes being Bentley’s.

  She plucked a garment bag off the closet rack and sauntered over to her bed. Unzipping the bag, she revealed a custom-made lightweight leather outfit with a cutout pattern all over it. She’d seen a similar outfit on Beyonce Knowles on MTV and had to have one. The breast-baring halter and hip-hugging miniskirt were jeweled all over with Swarovski Austrian crystals to accent the design of the cutout pattern. Her Prada

  shoes set the outfit off just right. The getup had cost her nearly a grand to make, but she considered it an investment. Besides, someone had given her the money anyway. And in order to hook a big fish, one has to use big bait, she reasoned.

  “Fuck all those broke bitches that have the nerve to call me a video ho,” Desiree said, smirking at her reflection. “They just mad cuz they can’t afford wears like this.” Desiree stroked the butter-soft leather of her outfit and knew she would be the baddest bitch in the house tonight. “They know they’d have their asses all up in the videos if they could.”

  Desiree was amazed at the amount of backlash that she received from people about doing videos. People were always saying things about how the model’s images degraded and objectified women, but Desiree thought they should lighten up. Men had been degrading and objectifying women long before videos were ever invented, and if videos were to suddenly disappear, she doubted that would change. Anyway, it was just entertainment. Why should she feel bad because men thought she was sexy and that her face and her body in a video could help push record sales over the top? If anything, she should feel bad for boosting someone else’s record sales before she boosted her own!

  Desiree walked into the bathroom, disrobed, and ran the water for a quick shower. She wanted to hit up her bikini area and underarms with a razor. She hadn’t had a wax since she’d last been to the J Sisters in New York for their celebrity favorite: the Brazilian bikini wax.

  She shampooed her tawny, bronze-streaked curls carefully, as to not disrupt her extensions. She had gorgeous long hair, but wore pieces because she felt they gave her hair that “perfect” look. Plus, she wasn’t going to let a whole bunch of different stylists fuck up her hair. They could do whatever they wanted to her weave. After shampooing she applied a conditioner and let it sit as she washed her body.

  Desiree’s body was awesome. It was her moneymaker; she felt she owed everything to it. Her magnificent breasts, although implants, were soft, with just enough jiggle. Her surgeon was truly an artist, but she’d had a good canvas to work with. Her skin was the color of butterscotch syrup and tasted just as sweet, she had been told. She received biweekly facials and massages to keep her complexion radiant and smooth.

  Desiree’s complexion was flawless, thanks to her Dominican mother and mahogany-hued African American father. Desiree was glad that even if her parents hadn’t given her much else, they’d at least given her their good looks.

  Rinsing the soap from her body and the conditioner from her hair,

  Desiree stepped carefully from the shower and lightly toweled off with a fluffy Egyptian-cotton bath sheet. Her smooth, tanned legs glistened as she spread sesame oil all over her five-six frame. She admired her ass in the mirror.

  “Jennifer who?” She laughed, thinking Ms. Lopez had nothing on her backside.

  Her eyes shined fiery amber, with flecks of green and gold. The MAC cosmetics she artfully applied only accentuated her dazzling natural beauty.

  Leilani arrived shortly after Desiree had finished putting on the final touches, to smoke a blunt before leaving for the club. Leilani might have been irritating, and thought she was all that, but she always had the fire- ass buds, directly from the mountains of Jamaica.

  Leilani damn near shit her pants with envy when she caught sight of the glittering and exotic Desiree. The outfit was definitely an eye-catcher. “Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it?” Leilani quipped, her soft voice faintly tinged with a
Jamaican accent, her roving eyes taking in

  and critiquing every inch of Desiree.

  Leilani looked cute in a supershort, tailored white skirt suit with a matching white fedora and white Manolo stilettos. The white of the suit made her skin look like smooth milk chocolate. It was a sexy but classy look.

  “Bitch, please. This shit is the hotness.” Desiree dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. Leilani said nothing; she only raised an eyebrow. “Anyway ... hat on?” Leilani twirled in a circle. “Or hat off?” She removed the hat, then undid the bun in the back of her head. Her hair cascaded down to her waist, and she shook it out, running her fingers

  through the length.

  “Either way looks cool,” Desiree remarked dryly. She could care less how Leilani wore her hair or rocked her brim.